A Final Fantasy's Fantasy
by Sir Karmagant
Summary: A tale of Fantasy in which a corrupt and familiar Queen makes a dark pact with a Seeker of Darkness and is opposed by the planet's heroes-Characters from several Final Fantasy's abound, though the world is set in the FF7 universe after Meteor. Please R
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the creative geniuses that invented them—i.e. the wondrous conglomerate that we now know as Square-Enix. I claim no ownership over any, though the main character and several few others were brought into existence by me for purposes of the story. Thanks, and please enjoy!

     He slept, and thus, he dreamed.

**_Created by the 4-armed Samurai_**

****

_The city was silent, but it was far from bare. Every block, every urban street was packed to the brim with men and women. _

_And yet none of them made a sound._

_Dark maidens with their hair done in braids and beads, clad in yellow cloth and who wore black leather and even blacker iron cast over their vital areas, clustered about with spears around the, humming, vibrating ballista cannons placed strategically through the metropolis. _

_Great men, tall and lean with long, straight pale hair and waving banners of blue and gold sat atop proud, strong horses, lances and long-barreled rifles tucked under their arms as they waited, eyes watching the north._

_And beside them, dark-haired people, many with shaven heads, and wearing all assortments of strange, colorful clothing, and complete with goggles and grease-stains, their features grim as all the rest. They were mounted as well, atop their own steeds—great, iron beasts of machinery. Awesome automobiles of war, outfitted with lesser versions of the cannons spread throughout the city. _

_The demi-humans stood apart from the rest—brought to stand united with them now in the face of an enemy like none had ever seen before, but still remembering the scars of racial hatreds that had existed between them and humankind not yet that distant in their memories.__ Ranks and factions of their own waited not feet apart from those that months earlier, they would have considered their dearest enemies. Muscled and fierce, men with the heads of lions and wielding blades too heavy and terrible for any human to ever hope to lift bided their time, keen eyes locked upon the north beside others of their oft-misunderstood race—men and women with gills, horns, scales, and all other assortments of features that separated them from regular human beings. _

_What it was that had brought them all here—the force that had torn down past hatreds and alliances just as easily as it had torn down the walls and armies of other cities before this one—even now, none of them knew what it was, or where it had come from. But they knew that it was relentless, and completely without care or concern for the greatest weapons their combined civilizations and technologies had to offer. It brooked no peace, offered no demands, and took no prisoners. It only killed, and it did so _en masse_. _

_A familiar buzzing filled the ears of those with the greatest hearing, but it soon grew so that all gathered could hear it—and fear its coming. A shadow grew from the north, the horizon being blotted out by a great black mass with thousands of sharp spines, each one large as a skyscraper bristling upon the _thing's _back. _

_Final preparations were made in a haste that verged on desperation, for while many were possessed of hearts of steel, ready to die with honor against the beast they would face that day—others still struggled not to break and run at the mere sight of it, its figure all but unreadable, but for the great darkness it brought, the light of the day star shying behind it's awesome size.  _

_Its echoing bellow tore through the sky worse than the searing fire it spat across the heavens. The spear of glistening flame arced across the darkening sky, raining down upon the gathered army like hunting death._

_Battle-cries from hundreds of different armies and peoples rose up, and as one, the tide of warriors, and the last hope for the planet, rushed as one toward certain doom._

_A 6-String Cello Production___

Of all predictions and forecasts that could have been made, the foremost would have been (and for some, was) that if it were to happen, Yuffie Kisaragi would betray them first. Traitors and spies weren't common, but it was well known that they _did_ exist, and always, what caused them to sell out were treasures and possessions of the secular variety. Those sorts of men and women lacked the deeper, more meaningful things in life that might keep them in honest, and in turn, they were willing to betray those honest bonds of trust for coins of silver and gold. Never would any of them have guessed, however—they, who were so distrustful of the young ninja, Yuffie Kisaragi, that in fact she would not be the first to betray them, that in fact, she would be the first to die for them.

****

The battlefield had been scorched beyond repair.

His men had hit hard and fast, and Seymour Guado could not have been more pleased with the results. The detailed report given by the rebel turncoat had been flawless, and had he originally been of Seymour's employ, the guado warlock would have made sure the man was promoted. Unfortunately, he had come from enemy ranks, and frankly, he just could not be trusted. A fact very clear by his actions thus far.

And besides, company policy was company policy.

So, without being able to enjoy even an hour of his new life as a traitorous dog, the man had had to watch as the huge amount of gil he had _demanded _for betraying his comrades was taken away from him as Seymour Guado's Guardian and bodyguard, a bear of a man with numerous scars etching his great body, filled his chest with an entire clip of bullets.

Such was the price of life.

Still, that pleasant memory had faded to the back of the guado warlock's mind now. Now, he was much more captured by the scene directly before him: The sight of one of the famed rebel leaders who opposed him and his allies so fervently… lying near certain-death at his feet. Settling himself comfortably, drinking in her pain with sadistic relish, he positioned himself so that he could see her entire form clearly, while she was forced to stare at his boots.

"Yuffie…It is, 'Yuffie', isn't it?" He asked, though in reality he knew her name full well.

Gasping for breath, weakened by the battle and her injuries to a point beyond exhaustion—kept awake only by her sense of pride at not letting this pompous enemy see her faint, Yuffie replied, "Don't waste our time Guado. I've got an appointment with the Farplane, and you've no way of making me talk."

Seymour laughed. "Silly girl," he said, "torture isn't for making you talk, it's for keeping me entertained. Now then, shall we begin?"

**_A F_****_inal_********_F_****_antasy's_********_F_****_antasy_****__**

****

_'Dear God… Please Forgive and watch over us. Your sinful children of the Planet.'_

Footsteps echoed dully through air, soft-soled metal boots taking measured, hurried steps.

_'The task you have given is hard, but I will not shun your duties… please, be there for all of us.'_

"Princess? It's time."

Hands folded, head bowed, and with knees shamelessly touching the ground, Royal Princess of the Kingdom of Alexandria, Garnet Til Alexandros the 17th slowly opened her eyes. "Just a moment Beatrix," She said, thankful for the darkness of the chapel. She felt as if it were hiding her fear, cloaking the uncertainty she felt for what she knew had to be done. And she had to be the one to do it. There would be no hiding behind her loyal knight and ever-vigilant servitor, the famed one-eyed General Beatrix, this time. Certainly, the other woman would be with her, but Princess Garnet was acting of her own volition this time. Those she led, would be following _her_, and it was to _her _they would look when strife arose; and the princess was painfully sure that it would, and soon, the longer she took procrastinating her departure from the safety of the church she had all but grown up in.

"Please princess, do not give Lady Beatrix trouble, she is only thinking of your best interests."

Smiling some, Garnet rose. The voice of kindly Bishop Simon comforted her. He was like the father she had never had, being as her own had died when she was only a child, guarding her and her mother, the Queen, and their country of Alexandria from war in a distant land. His body had never been successfully recovered and returned home, but all reports had been clear in the fact that he had died from injuries he suffered in battle. "You're right Simon; Beatrix, forgive me. I am just… frightened." Turning around, she was comforted further by the supportive expressions of the wizened holy man, Simon, and her beautiful one-eyed guard, Beatrix.

"Do not let doubt worry or constrain you princess. The Lady Beatrix and her knights will be with you every step of the way, and also, you have the hand of God and the church shielding you in your travels. Your mission is a just one, and it will be seen to completion."

"The good bishop is right. I will not allow any harm to come to you as long as I live, my princess, and those knights I have picked out for this mission are among the best our kingdom has to offer. Trust me, any threat your mother may—,"

"Please stop." Garnet said, interrupting what the other woman had been saying. "I know what we are to do goes against the will of my mother, the Queen. And I know it is because of her recent, bizarre actions that we are forced into the position we now take. But she is still my mother, _and _my Queen. I do what I must now because I have no other alternative. And if it would restore her to her old self, than I would gladly accept any punishment or sacrifice."

"Well said princess, but with us at your backside, you won't have to worry your pretty head over any of it."

Three heads turned at the unfamiliar voice, speaking from the entry doorway of the chapel. He was a tall man, and upon first glance, best described as the type to look up a woman's skirt if he got less than half the chance. Outfitted in dark, practical leather armor, lacking much to all of the gleam and bulk most young 'knights' went about in daily. He wore a thin strip of brown scarf upon his brow, and wore an equally thin rapier sword at his waist, with a silver pistol tucked into his belt at the other side of his hip. His hair was about mid-length, not quite to his shoulders, and dyed an odd shade of blue that matched his eyes. He was smiling, and his expression was not one that made Garnet feel comfortable.

Beatrix scowled, as she was prone to doing when confronted with an enemy, and without averting her disgusted gaze from the man she said, "I stilldo not see why their _filthy _mercenary presence is necessary, princess. My knights and I can provide you with the greatest protection available to an heir of the Alexandrian throne without the misbegotten aid of them and their faithless ilk!"

Chuckling, the mercenary shook his head, waving a hand in front of his face as if to stop the Lady Knight from continuing with a hilarious joke. "'Faithless ilk'? That's quite a tongue you've got on you oh 'Great General Beatrix', but from what I've seen of you and your knights, you'll be needing _us_ much more than all that big talk."

Beatrix growled fiercely, one hand straying dangerously close to the hilt of her legendary sword, 'Save the Queen', buckled at her waist. It bit at her that much more knowing he had a point. Earlier, on the way to the chapel—a rendezvous that was meant to be completely secret—she and her column of Alexandrian Knights had run into a patrol of Alexandrian soldiers under the Queen's command. Hopelessly outnumbered, and with her force being nothing more than a small number of knights, strong and gifted, but straight out of training, and young and inexperienced in battle. They had fought a running battle through the dense forest surrounding the church, and before they could be cornered, or their destination discovered, the mercenaries at hand had appeared, and saved them from certain doom. The Lady General would almost have preferred death to watching ex-comrades in arms slain by the mercenary filth she was now forced to work with. As it was, however, in order to keep their movements secret, and beneath the notice of the Queen, she had not been able to take the best, most experienced and trained knights under her command. She could remove herself and the Queen would assume she just had other business, keeping peace in some other part of the realm, but in order not to arouse suspicion, she had only been able to pick out a minute number of the best and brightest, who had only just graduated into knighthood, but that had days earlier been naught but squires. As much as it pained her, the mercenaries hired by the princess were necessary. Without _them_… without the Turks, they had no chance of accomplishing their God-given mission.

"That's enough. Both of you." Garnet said. Moving forward, she embraced Simon, receiving his blessing and blessing him in return. Once they parted, she did her best to steel herself for all that was to come on the path she had now chosen for herself. It was… difficult. "Let's go." She said.

Stepping outside of the church was almost like stepping outside of a command tent and into a small military outpost or encampment. Warriors stood all around, a small patch of Beatrix's knights in one area, distinguishable by their glimmering, light armor and fine capes and clothing, all in the color of Alexandria's flag, orange and white. And otherwise were scattered the mercenary fighters of the infamous Turks. At least two dozen of them, and all looking shady and disreputable, wearing dark armor and clothing, and hardly a one with a weapon of war, but more with smaller, or ranged weapons—daggers, crossbows, pikes and tomahawks. The tools of assassins.  Beatrix sneered in disgust, but otherwise kept silent.

"For a while there the men and I thought you were planning on spending the night and leaving us waiting out in the cold. That's why we decided on sending me in to get you; or at least, 'tuck you in'." The tall mercenary with the rapier at his belt said, stepping up behind Garnet from the church's entrance, having followed her and Beatrix out.

"Watch your tongue knave! You're addressing your princess!" Beatrix snapped, taking a step between Garnet and the Turk.

Eyeing the woman coolly, the swordsman smiled and offered a mock bow, derisive in its extravagance, and causing Beatrix to grow even angrier.

Seeing another unneeded argument rising, Garnet hastily spoke up. "I'm sorry captain. I thank you again for putting so many of your men at my disposal. Are they ready to move?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, and eyeing the princess with a look that bordered on amusement, he replied, "They've been ready. I'll send most of the group ahead and off on a different route to meet us at the entrance to the icy cavern in the south, while me and a few others go with you and your precious knights straight through the forest. That way we attract less attention."

"Hmph! Now all we have to hope for is that your men don't squeal to the Queen's knights about our plan the first chance they get once they're captured. Small chance of that." Beatrix stated, locking her one-eyed glare on the red-haired mercenary captain.

Shrugging, the blue-haired man replied, "My men are better trained than to allow themselves to be caught. Unlike the almighty Alexandrian knights, we know when it's better to run and sacrifice your pride than to die fighting a fool's battle. And even if any of us are captured, you can rest assured that they won't talk—they don't know anything after all, you've kept your plan bluntly secret from us. Just know our loyalty is in the coin you gave us, not you, and not your cause, whatever it may be. Now then, we've dawdled here long enough; let's move out, shall we?"

Choking her fear down, Garnet did her best to nod and speak with certainty. Again she reminded herself, '_They're all looking to me. I must be strong!' _"Of course. Beatrix? Let us go,"

****

"Your majesty?"

Pale green eyes opened quickly, their communion with the darkness present whenever they were closed coming to an abrupt end. "Chaos. What is it?"

"It is as you dreamt. Your daughter has betrayed you, and fled from the castle. Some of my contacts in the city claim to have seen her leaving the capital not two hours past."

"Garnet…" The Queen whispered, rising from her throne and moving to the open window of her tower. The moon was full, and its moon, the Red Star was a quarter full. A bad omen according to the practices of divination. _'What is in your mind my daughter…?'_

"My Queen?"

"What is it Chaos?"

"Your orders?"

His tone was dead as always, and coldly respectful, but she could sense the impatience in his words. She inwardly sighed—he was right, she already had a head start on them now—her treacherous daughter Garnet. "You say she has already left the city. Is she alone?"

"No. General Beatrix accompanies her. Along with the most-skilled of the 107th Contingent."

"The 107th? They're little more than children! What does Beatrix hope to accomplish with them?" The Queen mused aloud.

Chaos shrugged, even though the Queen was facing away from him. "The General probably hoped to attract less of your attention by taking those from your army that would be least missed. As it is, her own skills are more than formidable, and she could protect the princess from mostly any threat on her own. Those few she took from the 107th are most likely only to make the princess feel better… and if used wisely, to act as a shield if she and the princess come under any true danger."

The Queen was silent as she thought on the matter. _'So you have betrayed me as well, Beatrix? My First Knight… I thought I knew you well, that you were not the sort of person to use others for your own benefit. Especially innocents like those youths from the 107th. Have you finally come to understand that the only way to move forward in this world is upon the sacrificial backs of others?' _Turning to face her spy and lieutenant, Chaos, the Queen fixed him with her gaze. His own piercing red eyes returned her look and he straightened some in his crouching position, letting her know that she had his full attention. "Beatrix was my first, but she is not necessarily my best. In any case, we have the 'Eyes of God' on our side, while they are floundering in the dark. Do you know their location?"

"Several survivors from an obliterated patrol came in moments ago. It appears your daughter has stooped to hiring mercenaries to aid her. They were found a small ways from Flowereis Chapel, near the borders of Evil Forest. I am sure it is not coincidental."

Chuckling some, the Queen shook her head. "Coincidental? No… Garnet you simple fool. Using such an easily surrounded position as a landmark simply because the place comforts you? It is mistakes like that that will lose you this war." Looking to her lieutenant once again, she swept a lock of softly curled brown hair from in front of her pristine, gorgeous face and steeled her features, giving orders that she knew would cause the loss of more than one life that night. "Send Gafgarion and his 'Dragon in Fear Knights' after them. They should be able to track their movements through Evil Forest well."

"And with the Lord Gafgarion's 'Unholy Aura', the monsters and beasts of the wood will be less inclined to assault his troop as they will the forces of the princess."

"Yes. Go now, we have been given a chance but I refuse to underestimate our opponents now."

Chaos did not move. "My Queen…" He said, as if waiting for something.

"Chaos! Did you not hear me?"

"My Queen," The man said again, lowering his face, so that only his head of sharp black hair was visible to her. "What are your 'specific' orders concerning the princess?"

The Queen's composure faded some, her naturally white skin paling some. But it was only for a moment; before she had once again assumed her guise as the 'Iron Queen' she was so well known as. "I have not yet reached the point where I would have my own daughter slain. And at this time, I still have need of her… power. Have her, _and _Beatrix brought back to me alive. Capture as well any of the 107th that surrender, but butcher the mercenaries. I would not have their presence tainting my lands when they would dare take coin to fight against their Queen."

"Capturing the Lady Beatrix might be more trouble than it is worth, my Queen…"

"You heard my order Chaos. Gafgarion is creative. It should be easy for him to reason things out with her. Either she comes peaceably _with _the princess, or no mercy will be shown to either of them."

"But did you not order for the princess to be unharmed?"

"You're getting slow Chaos. We know that, but Beatrix does not. Now go, time is of the essence, and Evil Forest is a worse place at night."

"My Queen." Chaos faded from the bleak candlelight of the Queen's Tower as if he were a shadow himself, and the Queen, moving to her window once again to stare down at her country, was silent. She regarded the green, rolling hills to the east, and the great golden farmland of the west. The south and all its beautiful towering forests, and all the magnificent stonework and structure of the northerly capital, and the townships beyond. This was her country—_her _Alexandria. She would not see it lost, not even at the cost of her precious daughter's life.

"I thought we had an accord between us woman. Promised your soul for power, to me. A woman with no soul has likewise no need to spare the life of a treacherous General. Especially one as powerful as your General Beatrix. Her own mind about too many things she has, and her will is not one to bend, not even to a queen. Trouble you in the future she will, this I have told. Why do you still hold onto your weak precepts of mercy and compassion?"

Her green eyes lit like fire, and the Queen whirled around, radiance and magical might radiating from her glorious figure like a shining blazon star. "Watch your tongue with me Garland! I am not one of your spiritless, mindless whelps or dolls!"

The figure Garland, massive in frame and height, dressed all in deep black armor, with a black cape and dried out, crisp skin the color of white sand laughed gleefully at her rage, shying back some from her power, locks of thick, boundless white hair trailing from behind his head, his red eyes very similar to Chaos'. "No, not a whelp nor doll. Not mindless, and not spiritless—merely soulless. Indispensable is the princess's power if victory you truly seek. Cast off these weak human garments; relinquish love, compassion, and memory. Serve only the strength you have traded yourself for. Alexandria is strong, but no stronger than the other nations of the planet. The Prince Marquis of neighboring Ivalice will rain death upon your precious knights, the 'Honor of Alexandria', with his flying ships and gunpowder weaponry. Only with my aid, the power of the princess, and utter ruthlessness can you topple him from his avian throne. Now submit! And allow your heart to fall and become one with darkness…"

The Queen's upper lip trembled, sweat beading upon her brow like rain forming in the clouds. Her power had all but vanished at his words. It was not that he had overpowered her, but his words had shaken her, reminded her that in truth, she _was _his puppet, and she still wanted nothing more than to be used by him, as long as he kept giving her power. She could feel the dark gift he had brought her this time as well, and it spooked her to silence. The last gift had been the 'Eyes of God', that had allowed her to dream and foretell of her daughter's betrayal. What power she would be given now, she could scarcely bear to guess at. So she let herself fall, her consciousness sinking into the black, heartless darkness he offered, his towering frame approaching once again from the shadows he had retreated to, each step like a giant gong or bell, ringing in desperate silence… The last thoughts she had before her sight failed her, and her communion with the darkness began once again, was of her and Beatrix, naught but young girls in her memory, playing together and running up and down those rolling Alexandrian hills. _Her _hills… but then there was only Garland and his darkness.


	2. Beginnings

******_Chapter 1: Beginnings_**

****

_"I don't want battles where we have to lose in order to win."_

_-Yuna (Final Fantasy X-2)_

     Iseld felt like yawning, but at the stiff-backed, almost inhuman manner and posture of the other men and women clustered around him, he didn't feel comfortable doing so without being set apart from them as weaker and less disciplined. He was a Dragon in Fear Knight under the command of the Dark Knight, Gafgarion, one of Alexandria's leading Generals, and in terms of skill, said to be second only to the great General Beatrix. Then again, Gafagarion was in his early 60's, while the Lady Beatrix was in her early 20's, and there were many who held to the claim that Gafgarion's skill was far superior to the First Knight's. Iseld didn't have much of an opinion on the matter himself, but as he served under Gafgarion, and they were currently en route to a battle versus Beatrix, he sincerely hoped that those who thought Gafgarion a match for her were right. As it was he did not believe he could last more than a moment against either of them. A recently graduated squire, he had confidence in his own skills as a Dark Knight-in-training; not to mention the fact that he had been accepted as a Dragon in Fear Knight, undoubtedly the most powerful, elite fighting force to serve under the Alexandrian flag. Beatrix commanded the armies of Alexandria, and thus did not train her own troops as Gafgarion did, which is why she did not have a force of her own to speak of. For that, Iseld was once again grateful.

"A-CHOO!"

Sneering some at the familiar sneeze, Iseld moved to the side a little in his march, allowing for the older, bigger knight to squeeze up beside him in column. It would have been an easier affair with chocobos, but here in Evil Forest… it was better not to bring more prey than the forest was already provided just by having yourself there. "Baku, still got that cold?" The young Dragon in Fear Knight asked the elder.

"It's not a cold, I don' know what yer talkin' about." Baku replied, goggle-shaped spectacles completely concealing his eyes, his large size at least doubling Iseld's.

The two were friends, or at least close-comrades within the stiff, cold ranks of Lord Gafgarion's dark knights. Baku, an old veteran served as a sort of mentor and teacher for the younger, less experienced knight, Iseld.

A forlorn, eerie howl split the night, and as one the entire company went on alert. On the best and brightest of days, Evil Forest was a traveler's death trap. Here in the dead of night, it would be a miracle not to be harassed by the bloodthirsty denizens of the forest.

The column came to a sudden halt, and the order rippled back through the ranks, being spoken by the ranking captain of each squad: "Quiet in the ranks."

'_We must be close,' _Iseld thought, one hand gripped about the hilt of the sword coiled at his side, his other hand curling into the leather loop-handle of the buckler clasped at his side. The darkness pressed in from all sides as the troop paused, waiting for direction from their leader, Gafgarion, who led them from the back of a black chocobo at the head of the column. The warbling of twilight fliers and other forest creatures was apparent from the farthest reaches of the forest, but in their vicinity absolute silence reigned. The moon was veiled by the thick tree cover, the only light coming from the torches and brands carried by the knights on either end of every marching line.

Finally the command was given, and the march began once again, slowly at first as the men and women worked from stillness into movement once again. It was then that the forest came to life.

"Mindless, spiritless, hear the immutable beat, _Paralyze_!"

"Life is short, BURY! _Steady Sword_!"

The two voices came from hidden places of darkness within the forest, and they carried power with them, the effect upon the unprepared Dragon in Fear Knights striking fast and hard. The spell-techniques were not aimed upon the front lines of the force, but rather in scattered places all throughout the contingent, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint where the enemy might be hiding. That was if pinpointing their direction would even do any good—as it was, Iseld found that he could not move, and from the look upon his companion Baku's face, neither could the other man. An effect of the '_Paralyze' _spell; and not to be left behind, the '_Stasis Sword_' cut into the air like a leaden ghost. A pillar of icy energy swept down upon the Dragon in Fear troops, frosting their armor and the air alike before applying forceful crushing, magical weight. And those were not the only two spells to strike, and more than Baku and Iseld felt their bite.

All around him, his men were being struck down and dying, but Gafgarion remained calm, transfixed on his search—he would find her; she was the only one who mattered. His men could fend for themselves, and if not, well, that was their own affair. He had trained them to be the best; if they could not survive a simple ambush then they were of no use to him after all. White mustached brow furrowed, and dark eyes narrowed, his strong hand leaping to the hilt of his black sword as movement caught his attention somewhere within the dark confines of the forest pines not ten yards away. "Master of all swords, cut energy! _Night Sword_!" Sweeping out his arm, blade slicing the empty air in front of him, a sound like a howling beast's whisper filler the air, and of a sudden red light blasted out into the darkness of the forest, cutting through trees at their base like steel through flesh, and illuminating the area suddenly with sick, appalling red light.

Raising her sword up in front of her, Beatrix only barely deflected the Dark Knight's attack, though it bent and wrapped around her blade, striking the knights on either side of her with dreadful accuracy. The man to her left gurgled and went down, his sword falling from lifeless fingers, his throat cut through by the dark energy, while the female knight to her right screamed and fell backwards, blinded, her eyes slashed by the ethereal energy and spraying blood. Scowling, her single eye fixed on the ancient, Dark Knight standing there in the darkness ahead of her, his troops running about in a frenzy around him, engaging Beatrix's knights and hired mercenaries with trained fearlessness and speed. "Gafgarion…" she growled, both shocked, and enraged to find him here. That the Queen would have sent him… Holding her blade aloft she moved forward to do battle with the Dark Knight Gafgarion, and prayed this plan was worth the cost. The ploy was to slow the pursuing force down, not obliterate them, but in order to have even a chance she had had to leave the Princess with only a small number of knights, who were outnumbered by their mercenary companions 3-1. She did not fear for her own life in this battle, but she hoped that she could trust the damnable mercenaries.

****

****

Patiently, he picked his way up the beaten, shattered mountain face. On the other side he expected that the Princess and her meager forces were making their way up the other side, heading through the Ice Cavern and towards the exit where he was to be waiting for them. He was not there yet, but then, he still had some time to spare.

As he climbed, his mind was in a different place. Every struggling foothold and grip of rock, every breath, reminded him of the tragic turn of events that had brought him this far. He remembered with every haunting ache and pain from the wounds he had gained in the most terrible fight of his life, just why he was here. He remembered everything as clearly as if it were occurring at that very moment—but still, he could not understand _why _they had occurred that way! Two of his dearest friends, dead—or so he had thought—but now, he found that they were actually both alive, and both serving the leaders of an army which he could never stand in league with. And neither could they, that is if he knew them in even the slightest way he thought he did. "Barret… Vincent… why?" The crackle of thunder alerted his attention to the sky, and looking up, he sighed as rain began to pour from the black heavens, matting his thickly spiked blonde hair to his forehead from his framed vertical position along the rock face leading south and north down the opposite side of the legendary Ice Cavern, just a stone's throw north from the equally legendary, though much more feared and notorious Evil Forest. Thrusting his shredded red cape back over his shoulder, he secured his giant leather-bound sword behind him and continued climbing, as yet unaware that at the top of the peak, a warrior he had never met, but with a kindred soul, waited for him.

****

The mercenary with the oddly-colored blue hair and eyes blew out a fuming, frustrated breath. If he had known babysitting this measly Princess would have been such a chore, he gladly would have chosen battle with the dreaded Gafgarion and his famed Dragon in Fear Knight. It wasn't that Garnet Til Alexandros the 17th was rude, or pampered as one might expect a princess to be, but rather that she was _TOO _damned polite! "You've thanked me enough damn times already! And like I said the first time, we're doing it for the gil, not for _you_!" He would have actually preferred a harsh reply or indignant rejoinder at this point, but NO, she simply bowed her head, smiled, and said:

"As you say my lord. Please, you know who I am but I am not so fortunate on the other hand. Please, by what name are you called?"

Eyeing her sidewise, keeping the men moving up the rocky slopes that were slowly turning from forested rock to icy frost, the mercenary somewhat suspiciously answered, "It's Nikkolas."

"A pleasure to meet you Sir Nikkolas, and thank you once again for the fearless aid you and your men are bestowing upon us."

The so-named Nikkolas, by now too exhausted to even correct her again, merely nodded, eyeing the path ahead of them with a sharp eye, wary of any danger or signs of ambush. One hand fitted comfortably around the hilt of his silver pistol, he was caught off guard as several things happened at once. First off, thunder sounded in the sky, and it began to rain. He cursed, knowing full-well that the higher they climbed in search of the Ice Cavern, the colder it would become, which would cause the rain that had begun to become hail. And hail was never a welcome guest when one was climbing a mountain. Next the man he had placed at the rear of the column called up to him. He didn't get all of what he had said because of the blasted thunder, but apparently Beatrix and her retinue had broken form the forest, and they were not alone. Cursing again, Nikki (as he was often called by close friends) looked back ahead to find a hungry and slavering Arctic Wolf fiend pounding down the trail. Cursing a final time, his voice nearing a shout as his frustration and stress level hit its limit the leather-armored man threw out an arm, thrusting the clueless, and likely still blabbing princess behind him, effectively placing only himself in the path of the charging canine fiend.

Half as large as a horse, and with fur so cold to the touch that it would chill a blade of grass cold enough to break in two with a prod of one's finger, the Artic Wolf panted air cold as frost, red eyes bulging, and focused on the blue-haired man standing between it and its chosen quarry. Baying ferociously, its high-pitched barks well-purposed for driving men to terror, the canine monster leapt high into the air with about ten feet still between it and the mercenary.

Nikkolas clicked his tongue in anger, now even if he killed the beast, its airborne momentum could likely take him, not to mention the Princess flying off of the mountain path and to their doom. A dark smile decorating his handsome features, the mercenary drew out his pistol in one smooth movement, only one thought passing through his mind as he took aim and fired: _'Ha! The one-eyed wench would never let me live it down.' _The bullet tore a small hole through the small expanse of flesh, fur, and bone just between the fiend's eyes, and yelping once in the single blast of pain it experienced before dying outright in the air, the dog continued falling, Nikki yelling a warning out behind him as he rammed his back against the mountain wall, pulling the princess beside him and letting the creature hit the ground _hard _just where he had been standing. Despite his warning, the rolling fiend still took one unwary knight with it in its hellish tumble from the mountain path, the young man screaming the entire way as he fell, crashing into the waiting black treetops of Evil Forest with hardly a crash or sound.

"That poor man…"

Eyeing the Princess in disbelief, Nikkolas thought, _'She could have died in that moment, but she's already thinking about someone else… what an idiot. At least her gold is good.' _Allowing the troop a few moments to collect themselves, Nikkolas began their movement once again. It would not take long for Beatrix and her entourage to catch up, but likewise, Gafgarion and his knights would be right on their tale. Keeping his curses to himself this time, Nikkolas ruefully acknowledged the fact that they were not going to make it to Ice Cavern before they were caught.

****

"Get out of my way. I don't want to fight you… but I have to reach the peak."

"You will not pass. Sorry, but this just isn't your night."

Cloud scowled. After fighting his way up the _side _of the mountain, just to make certain to avoid any obstacles or opponents who might be waiting to stop him by order of his the enemy army, he came to find that one had waited for him here at the very brink of the mountain's peak. _'What a waste,' _he thought dryly. She was a woman, about as high as his chin—and he wasn't that tall to begin with—and gymnastically slender. He didn't once let himself underestimate her, however. He recognized a kindred swordsman's muscles along her fair-skinned frame, but more than that, he recognized a kindred warrior's soul within her. She had tousled silver hair—short, but attractive—with fierce, unflinching red eyes and a toned body that spoke of hidden strength. She may not have looked powerful, but if it were up to him he would not have wanted to face her without his sword. As far as swords went, hers was glorious to behold. Black, all the way from steel tip to leather bound hilt, the blade was not as wide as his Buster Sword's (then again, what sword was?) but it was still impressive, with thorn-shaped spikes chiseled outwards from the blade on either side, identifying it as a slashing weapon more than a stabbing one, even though the point at its tip was not one to be trifled with, and still undoubtedly sharper than anything his own rusted and scarred sword, covered in leather bindings like a wounded and ancient beast, had to offer. The pommel of her blade was decorated by a grinning skull, small rubies set into the skull's sockets to serve as eyes, and eerily similar in color to her own. _'Her eyes are like Vincent's.' _The thought steeled his resolve. He had a purpose for being here—the others were counting on him, and as much as he wanted to keep from hurting as many people as necessary, he could not walk away from this battle.

As if sensing his determination the woman stepped her left foot slight forward, her large spiked sword still gripped in only her right hand. It was not much of a battle-stance, but the strength and confidence with which she held herself spoke wonders. The rest of her was resplendent in the form-fitting black mail of a Dark Knight. Rather than steel or iron, however, her armor had been crafted of the hide of a black dragon—one of the great beast's fins apparent behind her head, rising up behind neck from between her scapula as a sort of frilled black neck-guard. A black headband upon her brow to keep her messy silver hair completely out of her eyes completed the outfit, and with a look that told Cloud he could either walk away, or step forward and feel her sword-edge, she waited.

Cloud Strife was tortured in that moment. It pained him—no matter how good she believed herself to be, no matter how evil a person she might be in life, it was still a struggle. He had given up so much in the search for his friends, clasped hands with a dark power that had crippled and tainted him, even now after he had been reunited with them, and broken free of the unholy pact. He had hoped never to fight again then… but now he had lost his friends once again—Barret and Vincent—through some manipulation of the enemy that he could not understand, even though he had been there to feel their betrayal when it happened. Now he had to fight again for his friends, but did that mean others had to suffer? Feel pain and torment, the same way he had?

"We don't have all night. If you're unsure of yourself you can go back down the mountain and collect your thoughts… though I would've expected more from the Great Cloud Strife."

Sighing, his features softening into a remorseful frown, Cloud looked upwards, uncaring of the rain falling into his mako-colored blue eyes and whispered, "I need you Tifa, only you wouldn't let me lose my way like this. I'm sorry, this is for our friends, and I have no choice." And gripping the hilt of the Buster Sword, he brought it up in front of him with smoothness and strength not apparent in his light frame. His left hand flexing tightly, once covered by a golden claw—a gift of the darkness, and still not quite healed from the ordeal—he narrowed his eyes as he regarded the woman one last time from an outsider's perspective, before she became an enemy. A thought floated into his head, _'Her hair is the same color as Sephiroth's,' _and then, with a battle-cry tamed after years of use, he lunged forward and struck.

****

They had fought their way up the mountain—together.

Numerous foes challenged them, both knight and mercenary alike attempted to halt their advance, to stem the charge of the Dragons in Fear. Often Iseld found himself facing a foe that was better than he was. A knight of greater technique, or strength, it didn't matter. If they were to continue fighting, even in the heat of battle, with men and women dying and screaming all around them, Iseld would die. But Baku was always with him, and with the veteran knight's help, they would be victorious, and they would continue on. Countless warriors fell before them, men and women that died and were swept aside off the mountain path and down back into the waiting, bloodthirsty Evil Forest like wheat before a mower's scythe, but they could not stop. There was no rest; they had to continue on, continue fighting and killing, in order to win back the Princess. Sometimes Baku would find himself overwhelmed by zealous knights of the 107th, or he would find himself the opponent of a mercenary fighter whose speed or quickness surpassed his own; but Iseld was always beside him, and together they would conquer any enemy and continue onward. But finally, they came to face a knight both of them knew—a one-eyed beauty, the Great General, Beatrix, who wielded the sacred sword, the blade: Save the Queen. But they were at one another's side, they could not fail, and even if they WERE outmatched, what other choice did they have? To run? Running was not permitted by the brave, and neither elderly knight nor young apprentice knew fear. So they fought.

First strike, counter-blow, parry, stabbing strike… the three battled as if in a dance, the two Dark Knights working together, riposting off of one another's strikes like finely tuned strings of a single instrument, and with Beatrix, defending herself and returning attacks with the grace and skill of an equally fine instrument. As melodious and wonderful as their dance was, however, it was not to last.

Iseld grunted as he strained against the Great Beatrix, pushing her back from their deadlock with the fervor of a young wolf. Sweeping out his arm in a flash that he intended to end the battle, he gasped as the brown-haired woman spun to his side, impact numbing his arm, his sword shattering into two pieces and falling to the ground, the hilt completely bladeless in his hands. He might have died there, but as in all instances, Baku came to his aid, lunging for the one-eyed Holy Knight in a thrust that would skewer her like a boar on the end of a hunter's pike. The woman only continued her dancer's spin, however, and replied with a thrusting of her own blade, the sword bursting through black armor and human flesh alike, spearing out the back of the lavender-haired old man's chest with terrible finality.

"_NO_!" Iseld cried. His voice was a mixture of anguish and rage. He knew that Dragon in Fear Knights were expected not to show such emotion… but he didn't care. He was helpless, and with his sword broken by the mighty Beatrix, he now could do nothing but only stare and watch his friend Baku, now impaled by the Great General's sword, knowing that the man had died saving him.

****

"UNWORTHY!" Gafgarion's roar was a toll of death, rising above the cries of the wounded and dying, past the mighty grunts of thunder, and into the heavens themselves. And it struck deep and cruel within Princess Garnet's heart especially. So many bodies lay littered between her and the Dark Knight it made her sick to count. And now Nikkolas—his pistol chamber run dry with all the shots he had expelled trying to stop the Alexandrian general, and his last breath fought—and taken—to protect her. It was all she could do not to throw herself at the black-armored knight herself, but she knew that would only destroy everything they had died for… and that the rest were still fighting for. It was an ironic, bitter tasting realization for her, but she knew that Gafgarion would not harm her anyways. So fighting her tears, fighting her feelings of regret and responsibility, she pushed her way up the mountain slope, the misty entrance of Ice Cavern just ahead while behind, Beatrix kicked aside the body of the young man who had flung himself at her, and looking around, realized that the battle could _not _be won in their favor. And with the split-second conviction that had earned her the title of Alexandria's Greatest General, she made a single, heart-wrenching decision, positioning herself between the Princess and everyone else down the mountain path, be they mercenary, Dark Knight, or allied knight alike, and including the steadily-advancing Gafgarion. Raising her sword, she summoned the last of her strength after the furious fighting, and with a cry, struck with the ultimate Holy Knight skill: _Excalibur_, down upon the slope, smiting the age-old earth and stone as if it were nothing, and breaking nearly the entirety of the mountain path away from the rest of the peak, sending friend and foe alike tumbling to their doom, a crescendo of panicked screams rising into the night as dozens of men and women fell at once, with only one of them almost certain to survive the fall, and he the only one not crying out. Hardly able to bear what she had done as she watched the young knights of the 107th, young and exuberant as she remembered them, so eager to serve the Princess, and the Great General Beatrix—now condemned to death by her own sword. All she could tell herself was: _'I had no choice. Gafgarion could not be stopped and we were outnumbered… it was either them, or the Princess.'_

Yet another grievous weight placed upon the already wracked soul of the Princess Garnet. The night had changed her already—she had seen war, in all it's brutality for the first time—but the night was not over yet.

****

If she were not so deeply dedicated and trained to nothing but the instinct of her own perfection in battle—so much so that nothing else phased her mind—be it emotion or conscious thought of any kind—the Dark Knight might have laughed at the sloppy, completely power-driven strike he aimed at her as a beginning to what she hoped would be a memorable battle.

Her past was not a kind one, and there were yet many holes, filled with regret, pain, sorrow, and the desire for closure and revenge, but she forced herself onward, unwilling to ever mourn or give in—she was too strong to accept either option. She had never meant to be a swordsman, but her tumultuous life had forced the role upon her. More than just the techniques of a Dark Knight lay within her, though, in fact she had mastered several sword-wielding arts in her travels, and through those travels, she had eventually found herself here, hired as a "mercenary" of sorts to guard the pass to the exit of Ice Cavern from any who might approach. She had forced the man who had hired her—a black haired, red-eyed servant of the Queen to tell her who her opponent was likely to be if he wanted her cooperation, and he had revealed it was to be none other than the fighting legend, the sword-armed demon and ultimate SOLDIER, Cloud Strife. This news might have well turned any other warrior away from the job—after all they would only be receiving money to guard the pass where as Cloud Strife would be taking their life. Not her, though. She prided herself on her strength, her iron-will, and her history of never having backed down from any opponent. She knew Cloud Strife's record, she had studied the stories written and told about him, and she had gone over their battle a thousand times in her mind. She would win, because she was herself—she could never possibly imagine herself losing to anyone. Not to say she would challenge any opponent and expect to win. She knew that there were still many men and women greater than her on the planet who would kill her if they fought—but it would not always be so. She had never meant to be a swordsman, but as life had seemed fanatical to force the role upon her, she would not fight it. If she were to be a warrior, then she would be the _GREATEST_ warrior this world had ever seen. Taking second place in anything she consciously put her mind to achieving was simply unacceptable. So now, as she flew back through the air in evasion of his first attack, as she had done thousands of times in countless fights before, she prepared herself for another victory. After all, there could be no other outcome.

Cloud raised an eyebrow, somewhat impressed as his female opponent somehow stopped herself dead in the air several feet up and back from her initial position on the path, and then suddenly came shooting back down and forward with him as her obvious target. She hit the ground running, face blank and emotionless, '_Like Sephiroth…' _he thought grimly to himself as she charged with unbridled speed directly for him. Despite the weight of her armor she cleared the distance between them in the blink of an eye, and with five feet or so between them she took to the air once again, gravity seeming to sag around her as she brought her sword up, grasping the hilt with her second hand as well, arms bending in all the right places as she brought the blade up over her head—and then came down all at once, her form blurring down through the air like several images instead of one, faster than a shadow, but with the strength of a megaton blast, all her power focusing upon the point of her sword, angling down for the unmoving Cloud Strife's head. _'Crush Punch'… not bad,' _he thought to himself, and then he was a flurry of movement himself, his giant sword rising up to block—and nearly breaking under the strain.

Cloud winced, fully aware that his arm was at the point of breaking every moment he held her tremendously powerful attack at bay, her body hanging in the air above him. His heavy black boots pushing cracks into the ground below him, the blonde swordsman gritted his teeth as steel grinded against vicious steel inches in front of his face, fully aware that his Buster Sword which had been with him since the very beginning of his journey, which had outlasted all of his other swords through countless battles, even the Ultima Weapon, which had been separated from him in his initial fall to darkness, was about to shatter into pieces under the strain of the woman's strength pressing down mercilessly above him.

For one grating, agonizing moment they held that pose, and for the expanse of that instant the woman was afraid that the battle might end then and there, but Cloud Strife almost immediately summoned up the discipline and determination that had gotten him this far—that had made him a legend—and his muscles, along with his spirit, _buckled _in refusal to admit defeat.

_'If you can't take an enemy head-on, then move out of the way!' _His mind roared at him and for a moment he was back in his battle with the Proud Clod. An invention created by enemies he and his friends had gained seemingly a lifetime ago, the robotic construction had been too powerful to trade blows with physically—which at that point in time, had been Cloud's only strategy of fighting. He had grown much since then, but he had also had his friends with him then. Now, he fought alone, for the sake of friends who had become enemies. Retracting his sword, Cloud lunged backwards, rolling as he hit the ground and coming up on his feet, tightening his grip on his sword hilt as he watched his opponent follow through her with technique. The moment her sword tip touched the ground, the loam of the mountain path erupted upwards in an enormous explosion that completely concealed her figure in upturned dust and rock. Preparing himself for an attack, Cloud was still nearly cut in two as the woman dashed out of the veil of airborne earth created in her previous attack, her sword sweeping out horizontally, leaving a trail like black fire in the night air. Dodging his midsection back and raising his sword up to avoid the sweeping blow completely, Cloud slashed down in a diagonal angle with his sword, putting the strength of both arms into the blow.

Having extended herself too far to hope to dodge, or pull her sword back up to block the blonde man's heavy sword strike, she had no choice but to turn her shoulder in, taking the blow directly upon her armor. Blasted back by the pure force of the attack, the left section of her armor collapsed away from her figure, revealing the sparse amount of black leather she wore underneath. _'Better,' _was her only thought, before she brought her sword to bear and charged once again.

This time Cloud was ready for her, and raising his blade up parallel with his body, the point facing down, he blocked her strike with ease, his superior strength causing the force of their meeting to ring greater along her sword arm rather than his.

Of course this did not even begin to deter her.

Coming together, the two struck out in a lightning-fast exchange of sword strikes, each blow perfectly placed and countered—though not wholly defended. It was a testament to the skill of both swordsmen that they both held numerous cuts and gashes, and not all of them minor upon their bodies as they fought. Blood from both fighters stained the ground, and the fight had now dragged on longer than either of them had expected initially—but giving up was unthinkable for both.

Running towards her, his face split in a battle-snarl, Cloud stopped short as she slashed her sword upwards from shin to shoulder. Stopping just in time to avoid being cut, but unable to get a good start immediately after because of a deep rugged slash along his thigh, the ex-SOLDIER chose a different strategy on the spot, kicking out with his damaged leg, his foot connecting with his opponent's hip and sending her stumbling back. Roaring, he leapt up into the sky from where he stood, his torn red scarf/cape trailing through the air behind him, sword raised high as he came down in his _Braver_technique aiming for the dark-armored woman's position upon the ground.

Recovering from the kick, she dodged aside, the earth cracking where he came down, just as it had when she had used her _Crush Punch _ability. She expected him to rush out, as she had, but instead she found herself beset by a wave of blade-like energy rip-sawing along the ground towards her; _Blade Beam_. Focusing her strength, she cried out as she thrust out with her blade, canceling out the energy attack only to find Cloud already dashing in at her from behind. _'How did he—? No wonder they say he's the best.' _Rather than become disheartened, the Dark Knight was only incensed by the caliber of her opponent. His skill made her fight better than she ever had in her life, and never before would a victory be better earned or more savored. Spinning she lanced her sword up in a stab only partially aimed at Cloud's shoulder, but more aimed at his sword in attempt to throw off his attack. It worked, and she jumped into him, ramming her armored knee into his midsection and doubling him over. Bringing her sword pommel down on his back, her eyes flashed as she blurted out, both mentally and aloud:

_'This is—!'_

"—the END!"

Blonde hair bristling, teeth gritting where blood flowed from the corner of his mouth, Cloud felt something deep and full raging up like a tide within him. Blue eyes bursting into flame as hot and red as hell, he cried out with a voice that was not his, but rather a demon's, black wings ripping from his back as his grip on his sword changed, the weapon sprouting black needles and blades as he tore upwards into the night sky from his prone position with his _Climhazzard_attack, taking the silver-haired woman with him.

Completely impaled by his thick blade, she was then flung off when he reached the zenith of his leap, her body spinning through the air like a dark comet, trailing blood as she fell and disappearing over the edge of the twilit cliff as Cloud came gently down.

It was some time before he was able to move due to the exhaustion chaining him, and sometime after that before he had regained control over his body, and reverted back to his normal state. Uncaring of the many dire wounds he had suffered, he clenched one scarred, bloody hand in front of his face. After all this time, he had thought himself free of the darkness, free from the sin of the mistake he had made in his search so long ago. _'I should have known…_' he thought sourly, his blue eyes bright as ever, staring down the dark chasm into which his unnamed foe had disappeared, a sub-tunnel of the Ice Cavern itself. _'Darkness doesn't let itself be used and abandoned. I though I could use the darkness, but I lost my way… and I couldn't find the light. And it seems I still haven't found it. Very well then, if the darkness is the only thing I can count on to get my friends back, than I'll go on using it—or being used BY it. It doesn't matter, as long as in the end, I know she's safe, and I know that they've been saved.' _Taking a deep breath, not willing to let himself rest even after the battle that had lasted well over an hour, Cloud once again began his trek up the mountain—as of yet, undefeated and still the ultimate warrior. _'Vincent, Barret—I'm coming.'_


	3. A Soul's Conviction

**_               Chapter 2: The Strength and Conviction of the Soul and the Oversouled_**

****

_"Attachment merely makes me weak."_

_-Squall Leonheart_

****

"Is everyone alright to move on?" Beatrix asked aloud, looking around the scattered, tired bunch of knights and mercenaries that remained after her desperate strike against the mountain itself. She received tired nods and murmured agreements in replies, but none of them met her eye. They had seen what she had done, and though none spoke aloud, though none judged her to her face, she knew their thoughts. They knew, just as she did, that it could have been any of them on that slope, and she would have annihilated the mountain path just the same. Her loyalty was for none of them—even those she had brought with them from the 107th… only the _Princess_.

"He's still alive,"

Turning at Garnet's voice, Beatrix was shocked to find her kneeling over the body of the blue-haired mercenary that had met them initially in the Flowereis Chapel. "Yes, Gafgarion is most certainly still alive my Princess, which is why we should be moving on as quickly as possible. His path up to the Ice Cavern may have been cut off, but he will certainly find another way. The man is tenacious."

"No." Garnet said, with a forcefulness that Beatrix had not though the girl had within her. "Nikkolas, he is still breathing."

"What?" Shocked more, the general moved to the fallen mercenary's other side. Looking down at him, she realized that she had never even learned his name. In hindsight, she supposed it made more sense that Garnet had been talking about him, but it was just fact—in all her years as an Alexandrian General, Beatrix had never known Gafgarion to leave ANY opponent alive… other than her that is, and it was certainly not for lack of his trying. It was to him she had lost her eye so many years ago, in fact. _'The only wound to blemish the face of the beautiful and untouchable General,'_ she thought bitterly to herself, examining the shallowly breathing mercenary, the sword wound where Gafgarion had stabbed him just above his heart, and leaking blood profusely. It was a miracle he still lived, but his fortune would not last long. "He will not live long," she said, looking at Princess Garnet.

"I will not leave him. I will carry him myself if need be." Garnet said, looking back darkly.

Beatrix frowned—there was that impetuous stubbornness again. She did not doubt that Garnet would do as she said and carry him, and she did not doubt that the girl would never complain once, but they were all there to protect her, and thus would be forced to wait for her. Couldn't she see she was hurting them further when she acted like this? Conceding to the girl's conviction, Beatrix asked if there were any strong enough and without injury that could carry Nikkolas until they got deeper into the cavern where his wounds could be looked over. Asking for any uninjured was foolish, but several of the mercenaries who had served under the man spoke up immediately. This surprised Beatrix yet again. She had known they were comrades, but had thought that they were allied only in a shallow sense of the word. They worked together, but she had suspected that they were only bound by the money they sold themselves for; surely no true comradery could exist between such knaves and brigands? And yet here they were, showing such concern that they would tire themselves further by carrying their captain. Well she didn't have time to think on it now—her responsibility, as always, was to the safety of the Princess first, and her men second. She led them into the Ice Cavern, mistakenly showing more concern for the danger they left outside, than for any danger that might lie in wait for them inside…

****

Underneath the dark green wool cloak he wore to stave off the chill that one might expect when coming to a place called "The Ice Cavern", Darklithe Coda was of thin, muscular build, only a few inches under six feet tall. His skin was swarthy beyond the description of just being "tan", and his hair was curly and thick, colored an eye-grabbing lime-green color that matched his almond-shaped eyes. Both of his ears were pierced, with three silver and gold hoops stuck through each lobe. His face was clean-shaven, and he dressed in rough, travel-tested clothing that fit him and fit him comfortably, though he would certainly not be allowed into any balls while wearing it. Loose fitting pants colored bright green and fortified over the thighs with iron-studded brown leather pads served as pants, the ends of the pants tucked into the black iron-sole boots he wore.  His upper body clothing consisted of two tops, both with the sleeves torn completely off. The undershirt was the same green color as his pants, eyes and hair, while the over shirt was black leather, stitched through with crisscrossing and intersecting leather loops, buckles and belts in no particular order or fashion, and with an oriental picturing of a tiger battling a dragon splayed across the front of the chest in bright green and gold stitching. His forearms were bedecked with large black leather bracers, studded in silver-iron spikes, and around his throat he wore a collar clasped of the same type—black leather, and ringed with spikes.

Now Darklithe Coda was quite aware that he was not the only "hired sword" as it were to have been dispatched here, to the Ice Cavern this night with the body of the Princess being their assigned goal and target. But he _had _suspected that they would all be split up some at least in their points of entry. Thus, you can imagine his surprise when one of the other mercenaries came literally falling from the sky and right atop him.

Now of course, it hadn't happened all _quite _that simply.

He had entered into the Ice Cavern through a base cave out of Evil Forest that tunneled up north into the actual cavern of legend through a series of tunnels that were normally impossible to navigate—fortunately he had gained a map from the Queen's servant that had hired him. After a somewhat short trip, the journey being quite simple, just gallingly confusing for one without proper direction, he had found himself in the white, icy grotto of Ice Cavern. There were flowers, lakes, fiends, and all manner of life one might find outside, just… frosted over to the point of absolute picturesque arctic beauty. Of course that made the cold-dwelling monsters and fiends that inhabited the area no less dangerous, but Darklithe was well-able to deal with the likes of them. What he was _not _prepared to deal with was the famed General Beatrix, who was supposedly escorting the Princess in her naughty little _coup d'état _attempt_. _Darklithe's mission was merely to follow and gain the location and intended destination of the Princess and her troupe before reporting the information back to the Queen's servitor, a dusky fellow by the name of Chaos, and awaiting further instruction.

It was then, as he was moving through the lower levels of the Ice Cavern, expecting the Princess and her group to appear from one of the many openings above so that he could begin tracking them, that a fellow member of the Queen's "Bloodhound" squad made themselves known.

At first, there was only the sound of sprinkling, crackling ice, but it had grown louder and clearer at an alarming rate. Before Darklithe could begin to fear that an avalanche had somehow begun, however, he had only needed to look up, and see a dark form hurtling down from the white abyss above and heading straight for him. It was plain that the person was falling, and using his uncanny talent and ability that he had trained himself to use with perfection over the years; he quickly recognized just who it was. The cause of the sound was that they were breaking through icicles of shallow snow banks as they fell, their fall slowing with every struck—and shattered—obstacle they passed in their long drop from the Ice Cavern's roof. It was his plan in the beginning to try and catch his falling accomplice, but the idea soon dismissed itself as he realized just how fast they were falling. Still, without his aid they would most likely die upon contact with the solid ground he stood upon…

It was in those few moments of hesitation that the falling body hit a jutting stalactite of ice that did not feel inclined to break immediately, causing the body to roll off and bringing it down right above Darklithe once again where it came down hard, crashing down into the Witchknight's back and knocking the wind from his lungs while at the same time burying him under a sizeable heap of fallen snow and ice.

Darklithe worked his way slowly to his feet, making certain he was whole and in one piece before turning his attention to his new friend. Looking down at them, the first thing he noticed was they "them" was a "she", and "she" was exactly who he had thought she was, though the information had been knocked loose from his brain some when she landed atop him. Silver-haired, and bedecked in the armor of a Dark Knight, she had interviewed and hired by Chaos just before Darklithe himself, which is why he had remembered her so well. He was very impressed with himself for matching her face to the one in his memory though, for at the moment her body looked to have been the personal toy of an abusive artist's works for the past few days. Her fair-skinned face was a mass of bleeding cuts atop swollen bruises, and her body was no different. Her armor was battered and broken—in fact the entire section that should have been covering her left arm and shoulder had been broken free of the main piece, and the jagged chunk that remained cut into her pale skin pitilessly, drawing blood of its own while the frilled fin-guard that rose up behind her head had been drastically bent. Of course none of those were a match to the giant gashed hole that had been blasted directly into her stomach. The wound was too angular and strangely-shaped to have been caused by a gun of any kind… but Darklithe dreaded to imagine the size of the sword or bladed weapon that could have been the parent to such a large and terrible wound. As amazing as it was, she was still breathing, though shallowly, and without thinking Darklithe began to check the pockets of his cloak for the item given to him by Chaos as an advance payment for the dangerous job he was to perform.

_'It is a 'Miracle Potion'_ _Recently crafted, it's healing essences are so strong that as long as something still lives, even up to the second before death, if they drink this elixir they will be restored to life. The effect is instantaneous. The potion itself is priceless, but I warn you against taking it to cure only slight injuries, such as a small cut or headache or such, for in that instance the potion will work greater than needed—and most certainly kill you.'_

Those had been Chaos' words, ironic he remembered. _'If I was ever so hurt I probably wouldn't have the ability or sense to drink the potion… and in any other case I'd be afraid that I was dooming myself if I drank it.' _Now, however, it seemed the exact, ideal situation for the 'Miracle Potion's' use had come into play, and pulling the crystal contained bottle from within his woolen cloak, he wasted no time removing the stopper and putting the potion to the woman's lips. Tilting it back slowly with one hand, so as not to drown her, he massaged her throat with the other, to encourage her to swallow. It was just as Chaos had said, the effect was instantaneous. Color bloomed in the woman's white cheeks and she immediately sucked in a lungful of cold, fresh mountain air, her chest leaping up, fingers clenching into fists. Darklithe sprung back, so as not to have her flail out uncontrollably and strike her, and paying only slight attention to his surroundings, he waited. Other than the initial effects, not much else happened, other than the miraculous effect of the most serious and horrible of her wounds healing. The smaller cuts and bruises healed completely, while those large only sealed to the point of no longer openly bleeding. All the remainder of the energy in the serum went into repairing the gouge formed in the woman's stomach, working for several slow minutes before the shining aura Darklithe had not noticed had formed around her faded, only a ragged, tender scar remaining, and the woman giving a broken, sore cough, almost as a poor, tired sign that she was once again alive. Despite the fact that all her injures had healed, she was still matted in blood, both fresh and dried, but the bruises had gone down, though the rent armor on her left side was still jabbing into her skin, and looked ready to open up a new cut where the old had only just been repaired. Darklithe was thinking about removing the hurtful armor completely when the woman—quite suddenly—sat up. Darklithe watched as she looked down at herself, hissing in pain as her movement caused her armor to slash at her skin further. Without warning she tore the offensive piece of mail from her body, leaving only the lower body armor attached but with her torso now exposed but for what she wore underneath. What she did wear underneath was bizarre, to say the least, and certainly not fit for the chilly air of the Ice Cavern. A scarf of black leather only about a foot long from top to bottom wrapped loosely about her chest, leaving her thin shoulders bare. The scarf came together in front, one piece overlapping the other, and with both flaps clasped together by a silver brooch shaped like a spiked cross just over her heart. The bottommost two inches or so of the scarf was covered in small metal squares, and though he could not see it, Darklithe assumed she wore some other sort of covering over chest beneath the scarf as well. She wore a black choker studded with tiny silver studs, and a green-tinted diamond hung down to her collarbone from a gray wire necklace. She wore two small black belts around her shapely waist and stomach, and two red straps—like suspenders—ran parallel one another up and down her chest, passing under the scarf, going over her shoulder and back down her back. The two red straps passed likewise underneath the black belt she wore, the buckle depicting a grinning silver skull which hung lopsided off of her hips, under her tight-fitting black leather shorts and clasping to black leather "stockings" of sorts which came up only a few inches short of her shorts. Shin-high stiletto-heeled black boots completed the outfit, and though this was the first time he had ever seen anything like it, Darklithe doubted anyone else on the planet could pull off the look as she did.

That was when she finally noticed him.

Standing up, the woman dropped what remained of her Dark Knight's armor, reached down into the corpse of her broken black mail and produced a sword. Without a word, she began advancing on Darklithe.

Taking a wary step back, the Witchknight regarded her with a disappointed eye, keeping his arms at his sides, doing his best not to provoke her in anyway with his actions, though he said, "That's it? I bring you back to life and your first thought is to kill me? Not very grateful of you; you could at least remember that we're on the same side."

At his words, spoken calmly, without anything hidden behind them the woman stopped, recollection flashing in her eyes. Yes, they had traded glances only once back at Alexandria Castle, but it was enough for her to cease her advance and let her sword arm drop. "Who are you?" She asked in a voice cold enough to chill ice.

Offering a mock bow, and sweeping his cloak off at the same time, Darklithe replied, "Darklithe Coda, Witchknight originally of Midgar, currently serving in the Queen's employ, just as you are, Miss…?"

Remaining silent for a moment as she regarded, she finally broke the quiet and named herself, simply as, "Paine."

"Paine. Chaos hired you right before me—I have good ears, that's the only reason I knew who you were. You were supposed to guard the pass to Ice Cavern's exit weren't you?"

Another moment of silent consideration before she replied, "Yes. But I failed. I was beaten."

Shrugging, Darklithe took a step forward, offering his removed cloak out to her at arm's length while saying, "I don't think anyone'll blame you much. I doubt they truly expected to find someone who could beat the Cloud Strife, though I'm sure you gave as good as you got. From all I could tell, they were just trying to cover their bases, maybe in the hopes that he wouldn't show up, and in the least case, slow him down some and pray he missed his chance to rendezvous with the Princess."

"Why are you giving me this?" She asked, nodding to the offered cloak, but making no move to take it. In fact, she was showing no signs of feeling the bitter cold either, despite her improper attire in the frigid surroundings.

Darklithe shook his head, "Don't take it personal. It's your own fault coming to the Ice Cavern dressed as you are. Just look at it from my perspective though—I have to look at you, but you don't. You're covered in blood and you look like hell, I just want you to wipe yourself off."

Scoffing at his words, the woman snapped out her free hand and snatched the woolen piece of material, hiding her small smile of amusement behind it as she scrubbed at her face, arms, legs, chest and hands, doing the best she could to mop up the blood still coating her form, using the wet stuff to try and loosen the dry before offering the cloak back to Darklithe.

Looking at the sodden bloody bundle, the Witchknight motioned for her to keep it, not letting himself shiver in front of her as he took a few steps down the icy path, looking up once more to make sure he had not missed the Princess Garnet, though if he had he would have know way of knowing just by looking now. "Well my mission is different than yours. I just have to monitor the Princess movements'—no suicidal orders like challenging General Beatrix or anything like that. So if you're going to come with me make sure you keep that in mind."

"And why would I want to come with you?" Paine asked, striding by him, admiring the frozen beauty of the scenery with her right hand ever gripped around the hilt of her sword, the blade itself only a few inches longer than her arm, and with the pommel set with a silver skull emblem identical to the one on her belt buckle.

"Well look how well you did on your own? Besides, wasn't something said about if you fail your mission, then it becomes _my _mission? And vice-versa?"

Turning around, Paine rested her sword upon her naked shoulder and quipped, "Hmm, you really do have good ears. So I guess we're comrades out of necessity then. I normally don't work with cowards, but I'll make an exception this time."

"_Cowards_? Darklithe repeated, her eyes widening. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Chuckling some, Paine turned back around, beginning to walk down the icy cavern stretch, leaving him to follow. Turning her head around to look at him sideways she said, "Struck a nerve did I? Only because of what you said about not wanting to fight Beatrix. No spine if you ask me."

Laughing right back, Darklithe started after her, "What good's a spine if you get it torn out of your back in a needless fight? I'd of thought you had a personal experience of that after Cloud Strife took you to pieces. You were _dead, _remember that? It's just good fortune I was here to_ rescue _you_._"

Ignoring his words and moving onto a different subject as the man's strides caught him up to her, Paine asked: "You call yourself a 'Witchknight'. I've never heard that term before—what is it exactly?"

"No, you wouldn't have," Darklithe replied, shaking his head as he took up step beside her. "I'm the first."

"The first?" She said with some disbelief, looking over at him.

"That's right. Impressed?"

"Hardly," She shot back. "What good are you anyways?"

Tucking his hands into his pockets as he walked, letting his head hang back so that he could watch the tunnels and paths above them as he spoke, Darklithe explained his unique class of fighter, "A Witchknight is the name I thought up to describe my style of fighting. I have a certain—_talent_—that members of my family inherit from the blood of our ancestors. The females were often called "witches" in the past and burned at stakes and such, while the men usually go unnoticed, usually because we lack the gift. I was a different case. Magic flows through me—not elemental magic like the type Black Mages command, but a more… _human _magic I guess. The _most _human magic I guess you could say—but then I really don't know how to explain it more than that. You just have to see it in action to understand." He couldn't tell from her impassive expression whether she knew he was lying or not. He realized he had somewhat dug himself into a hole with his poor explanation, but he hoped she wouldn't press the matter too vigorously. He had gotten by on his own for a long time—partly because he was not that sociable of a person, and partly because most of those who truly came to understand his particular talents… made it clear that they never wanted to share his company again. Ever.

Thankfully, she didn't press at all. Only saying, "Forbidden magic?" as a guess to what he might mean, though it was obvious she wasn't all that interested in whether her assumption was correct or not.

Recognizing his out, Darklithe gladly took it. "Yeah, all that 'unholy, demonic brood' shit that Holy Knights like to spew about. And then, I just added the 'Knight' title at the end, partially because I really don't rely on my magic to fight—it's just a really nice ability to have if I can't physically get myself out of a situation, and—,"

"And partially because you didn't want to go around calling yourself a title that in the past has been used only for women." Paine cut in again.

Chuckling aloud and nodding, Darklithe glanced over at her and said, "Yep, that too. Y'know you're pretty keen for a girl who was dead not too long ago."

"What can I say," Paine said dryly, stopping in her tracks without warning.

Following suite simply because the few minutes he had spent with her had told him enough that he knew her instincts were sharp enough that he would do well to trust them almost more than his own, Darklithe followed her line of sight to straight ahead of them and found… nothing. Absolute nothing, in the terms of no more path either. Following in Paine's footsteps exactly had literally kept him from taking a single step further that would have sent him plunging to his doom down into a dark mist-laden abyss that stretched across a gap as far as he could see, with the point of the icy path only barely glimmering in his eyesight some 50 meters off. "Brilliant…" He said aloud as in the farthest reaches of his hearing, he heard the echoing metal footsteps that announced the Princess's party had finally entered the Ice Cavern, while the 'Belly of the Deep' itself had decided to come and stretch itself out right in front of his face and prevent him from taking another step.

"Didn't properly examine your route through the cavern, did you?" Paine asked dryly, her tone of voice gratingly mocking in its own cold and superior "I told you so" sort of way.

"Least I didn't get half-dead in the process. Thanks for telling me about the gap by the way."

"I was going to pull you back. Just thought it might be funny to see you flounder out in empty air for a second or too. Good reflexes by the way."

Looking over at her wearing a scowl that told her he was very much not amused by what she had been planning as a "joke" that might well end up with him plummeting to his death for a thousand-or-so-unknown feet, he let out a frustrated sigh and sat down at the edge of the chasm.

Silence reigned in the air between them for a moment before of a sudden, a thousand pillars of sifting, rotating, and ever-moving ice and snow rushed upwards from the blackness of the crevasse so swift and so loud and so sudden that Darklithe nearly wet himself in shock.

Paine, however, just looked on in mild contemplation and whispered, "Looks like you find your way across, Witch."

****

"Set him down here—gently!"

The mercenaries that had been carrying Nikkolas's body followed Beatrix's commands to the letter, setting there captain down gently upon a bed of ice covered by a layer of fine, soft snow while Garnet looked on, pale and silent, not even paying attention to the crystalline ice flowers and mist breathing cold springs she had read so much about in the castle's library and been anxious to see ever since she was a child.

Kneeling down beside the wounded mercenary, Beatrix solemnly regarded his injuries. It was the same diagnosis from earlier—he was only barely alive, and would not be for long, even her healing powers might not be enough. The cold of the Ice Cavern had helped to stem the flow of blood from his wounds, but the temperature was certainly not "good" for him in his current condition either. _'Well all that can be done now is for me to try. It is most likely a wasted drain on my energies—this man cannot be saved—but still, after the sacrifice he has made, I suppose I must try.' _And with those thoughts, she closed her single, beautiful eye, concentrated her will upon the light blessed essence floating within her consciousness—the source of the heavenly powers gifted to her as a Holy Knight—and wrapped herself around the holy restorative powers. She extended her palms outward down, nearly touching Nikkolas's chest with every cast spell, not out of necessity, but simply because it was how she had first learned to focus her power.

First _Cure_, and then _Cura_, and then another _Cure_, followed by an _Esuna_for any possible infection and a _Shell _for the cold. She cast a weak _Protect _to isolate the main wound he had suffered under Gafgarion's blade: 'Nightmare' and prevent any further bleeding, but despite all her best efforts, the man was slipping, and they could all see it. Her White Magic had certainly helped, but he was deteriorating faster than she could heal him, her spells were being overwhelmed by the seriousness of the wounds and the dark enchantments of the sword that had caused them and frankly, she was running out of energy…

_Curaga_—Divine, miraculous light like none of the assembled had ever before witnessed, besides Beatrix herself sprang into blissful, radiant being upon the prone form of the blue-haired mercenary captain.

Gasps formed, eyes widened, and all gazes turned to Princess Garnet—more stunning than she had ever been before with her eyes closed, long black hair lifted and shimmering above her head, beautiful face serene in its concentration and with hands clasped at her chest, over the symbol of the cross she wore as a necklace down over her white lace shirt and bright orange bodysuit.

Beatrix herself was amazed. Even she herself could hardly cast _Curaga_and even when she was at full strength it was not the perfectly formed spell the Princess had breathed out. As it was, the one-eyed General had never known that such power slept within the Princess, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Nikkolas's life force returning, color growing in his cheeks, his chest rising beneath his leather cuirass; fingers clenching tightly at his sides as a moan escaped his lips.

The gathered mercenaries rushed to their captain's side, but at Beatrix's command backed up some to give him room to breathe.

A moment later Beatrix had rushed to the Princess, catching the wavering girl before she could fall. Holding her up gently she heard the girl whisper:

"I… did it Beatrix. Did you see?"

"Yes Princess, you did magnificently, a more perfect _Curaga_I have never seen."

Eyelids fluttering, Garnet sighed in exhaustion, releasing a murmur before she passed out completely. "Please Beatrix… I'm tired of being the Princess. My mother… I'm the only one who can stop her, but I never want to forget those who help me along the way. I want to be their… queen in more than just words."

Beatrix nodded, watching as the girl slipped away into a gentle slumber, having to strain to catch the last spoken words.

"So please, from now on... call me… Garnet…"

It was some hours before both Nikkolas and Princess Garnet had recovered fully. The knights and mercenaries alike now looked upon the Princess with a sense of awe—she was more than the pampered, goody-minded and pretty girl of naiveté they had thought she was initially (though this went more for the mercenaries than knights… in most cases at least).

Upon awakening Nikkolas, without sarcastic quip or rude remark had nodded to Garnet in thanks, but done nothing else to show any sort of appreciation and immediately convened with his men, separating them from the rest.

Garnet had been ecstatic at the blue-haired man's recovery, but seemed a little put-off and dejected at his weak thanks. Beatrix recognized this, and was tempted to demand the pistol-wielding mercenary captain show proper respect and gratitude for having been brought back from the dead, but she decided against it. After everything that had happened… the mercenaries were no longer just bodies, purchased to be done with as was pleased. One of them had nearly given his life in defense of the Princess, and all for a cause that he may or may not have believed in. Their lives were at stake, and following her or the Princess blindly, showing proper court tithes and respect is not what would keep them alive. Beatrix knew—she did not treat her men the same on the battlefield as she did in the castle. And this was not the castle—it was time they started relying on one another as a unit. _'The Princess will have to learn this as well,' _Beatrix thought, watching her. _'She is strong, like her mother. She will be alright.'_

Standing alone, apart from the knights and the mercenaries alike, Garnet's mind was embroiled with thoughts and unfamiliar feelings. She felt alone—despite all those surrounding her; she could tell that they were apart from her, which was something that she was not used to. Back at the castle, anyone she had come across had been at her beckon call. She had tried hard not to overuse the ability and become spoiled, but now, just a little, she wished she were the center of attention again. Of course she hadn't saved Nikkolas for the hope of being thanked and rewarded—it had been something much deeper than that that had drawn out the power inside her for her to use such a powerful White Magic spell as _Curaga_, but his meager recognition for her deed had depressed her more than a little.

Surprisingly it was actual use of the spell that impressed itself in her mind the least. She had no idea where the knowledge, energy, or concentration had come from for her to cast it. Yes she had been training as a White Mage under Beatrix, and the best White Mages the castle had to offer, but she was hardly even moderately skilled. _Cure_, _Esuna_and _Protect _were the only spells she had mastered, and from what she knew, even Beatrix, an adept Holy Knight whose skill encompassed those of a White Mage as well, had not even the power to use a spell like _Curaga_on a whim. But at the moment, the most important thing to her had been saving Nikkolas. Mercenary or no, he and his men had still chosen to help her in her cause. They had given their lives, taken grave wounds, and Nikkolas had nearly died, and to her, that meant they were just as much her people as any other Alexandrian citizen.

"Is Her Highness and your knights ready to move? The Ice Cavern isn't as dangerous as the Evil Forest, but it isn't a place to dawdle."

Beatrix regarded Nikkolas with a cool eye. She battled briefly with the idea of his apologizing to the Princess for his rude behavior, but decided against it. In the main, he was right, and they needed to get moving. "It is good to see you are well captain. Nikkolas was it? Anyways, I do not speak for the company, you will have to inquire the Princess Garnet—,"

"Yes." Garnet said, cutting in firmly, her back turned to both of them, facing the misty, winding path leading deeper into the Ice Cavern. "It is time we moved. Lady Beatrix, Captain Nikkolas, let us go."

It was not only Beatrix and Nikkolas who recognized the change in the Princess. Several knights and mercenaries looked at one another as they fell into step, the entire party following Garnet, though Beatrix walked at her side, sincerely trying to convince her to fall back into the group so that she did not present such a target of herself, walking as the group's spearhead.

 "I am responsible for this party Beatrix. It would undignified for me to walk anywhere but the front. I can't ask someone to take my place and put themselves at more risk than I am willing to suffer. This is _my _cause, and these are my knights."

Lapsing into silence as she recognized the hardy stubbornness common to the girl she had nearly raised coming forth, Beatrix stayed in step with the Princess, content that if she could not convince the girl to fall back, that at least she would be there at her side to protect her.

The Ice Cavern grew colder with every step inside, and it became even worse as they found their only route leading them into a yawning, depressing white stretch of frozen tunnel. Inside, vicious gray winds, bristling with particles of snow and crystalline ice fragments buffeted the troupe with ruthless tenacity, leaving only small pauses for them to catch their breath or wipe the melting frost from their eyes before the cave storm came at them again.

Unbeknownst to Garnet, she became a crucial pillar to the men and women she was leading. For where as Beatrix's practical snow-white and steel-gray colored clothing (a mixture of her garments and armor) blended right in with the wintry "indoor" blizzard, Garnet's bright orange bodysuit stood out like a beacon, allowing those behind her to have a sense where to put their next step.

Even Nikkolas found himself relying on the girl, though he still did not think of her as any more than a selfish, pampered and overly optimistic nightmare. Certainly, he was grateful for her having saved his life… but… well he could not come up with any "but", yet. He knew however, that it would be foolish of him to start "liking" the girl, and even worse to grow "attached" to her, or her cause, as she had tried to explain to him on the jaunt up the mount towards Ice Cavern. In the end, she was just another client, and it was quite possible that in several months—even weeks—the Queen might anty up more money than they were being paid now and he would find himself working for the Queen and _against_ the Princess, rather than for the Princess against the Queen as he was now. And Garnet was the type of girl who would be crushed by that, he had met her type before—worked for, and then been paid to work _against_ her type before. They always died with such a look of… not even anger or betrayal but just… _hurt_, in their eyes. _'Stupid, what's wrong with you, referring to her by her name? She's the "Princess", nothing else!' _Shaking his head and blinking fiercely to keep his sight through the barrage of hail and snow raining against him, he steeled himself and trudged onwards. It would be best for all involved if by the time this mission was over, they parted ways with her hating him for all she was worth. It was his plan to make her believe that he was the coldest, most heartless bastard on the planet Ivalice, and that there was nothing in his life or character worth keeping alive. That way, it would be easier for her, the next time they met, and were enemies. _'Hmph,' _He chuckled at himself at the irony, _'Of course that would mean she'll have no reason to save you next time… not to mention that it'll only make your job harder if you do end up taking a job that opposes her. Nikkolas you idiot—since when did you start caring about the well-being of your clients over your own? It's a good thing Marcy's not here to see this—she'd never let you live it down,' _Realizing he was falling behind some, he checked his pistol at his waist and his rapier at the other side to make sure they were still there, _'and if you don't start catching up neither will that one-eyed wench of a general. I can hear it now: 'Are you sure your wounds aren't too serious? Would you like to rest?'' _Gritting his teeth at the mere idea of it, he put his face down so that the fierce icy wind struck the top of his blue-maned head and increased the speed and length of his footfalls, eager to prove that he had not needed the blasted Princess's damned help in the first place.

It was just as the group was exiting the ice-packed worming tunnel that the first dangers of the Ice Cavern other than the severe biting cold made themselves known. They were heard before they were seen, but even being able to expect and prepare for them, it was almost worse for the assembled group, as all had heard terrible, foreboding stories and myths of the beasts that had come upon them now.

                                                    _"The wind lays out my path…"_

_            "Get out of my way!"_

They were the Wyerd.

Built much like a great ape or "gorilla" as they were known in the warm continents that held them, the appearance was only ruined by the back legs, which were small and stubby, but immensely strong and straight, nearly jointless but capable of propelling the beast at great speed. Covered in coarse, wooly green hair that protected them almost completely from the cold, large, dome-shaped heads held sad, terrible yellow eyes and gaping mouths that sprouted curving, foot-and-a-half long ivory tusks. What was most unnerving about the Wyerd, however, aside from general appearance was the fact that in all the years that they had been studied and documented, no scholar could yet discern whether they were fiend or monster. The differentiations between the two were simple, even children were taught to understand at an early age: Fiends were creatures of spite and evil, beasts formed from the unresolved feelings of jealousy and hatred that remained within Unsent and often unburied dead; and monsters of course were natural creatures born from the depths of the planet, not inherently evil or hostile to the living, as all fiends were, but often dangerous simply because of their nature or instincts. The Wyerd, however, displayed properties of both. Their ability to speak was a trait held by long-lived monsters as well as fiends who had not been wholly taken by their urge to destroy the living, but they spoke nothing beside the two phrases that led their blind charge. "The wind lays out my path…/ Get out of my way!" Their speech proved that there was possibility for intelligence, but any attempts at communication had ended in bloodshed. The Wyerd feasted upon the flesh of humans, and of all monsters upon Ivalice, known was said to be possessed of the same senseless rage and brutality a Wyerd was. Able to travel _with _the icy wind, it was said they would pursue a man to the ends of the earth before letting one come into their presence and leave unharmed. And besides being resistant to cold magics, and they did not roam anywhere but enclosed icy caves such as the Ice Cavern, so lightning magic from the heavens would not work either. And as for fire, well they were known to be quite adept at rolling in the snow to dispense themselves of any flames cast upon them, unless the spell killed them outright, which it rarely did.

"I can… see them?" Garnet whispered, eyes straining as she stared into the face of the onrushing blizzard, her body frozen stock-still as the moaning wind rushed straight at her.

"Get back Princess!" Beatrix cried, flinging out an arm and thrusting Garnet behind her as she stepped up to face the charging pack of Wyerd, her sword flinging from its sheathe, ready to taste the blood of the beasts.

"Turks to me! You knights, join up and form a defensive ring! It's said they like to circle their prey before moving in—Beatrix get back here! We can keep Garnet safe in the center! My men, use your firearms, and any range weapons you possess to kill as many as possible before they close, we do _not _want to fight these things hand to hand!" Nikkolas's commands were like salve upon a wound. Gripped by fear, and nearly panicking, the knights and mercenaries had not known what to do, feeling alone and helpless until the blue-haired mercenary called out orders, his words uniting them, bringing them together under his leadership.

Beatrix was almost jealous of the man taking control—_almost_—leading Princess Garnet back to the quickly organizing troupe she took her place beside the mercenary captain, a grim smile coming to her lips as she stood beside the man, his silver pistol in one hand, thin rapier in the other. "I think you just might have to use that pig-sticker this time. Hopefully your experience hasn't waned since last you used it—slicing bacon I assume?"

"Dearest General, not all of us slays a dark dragon or destroys a cult of Dark Knights single-handedly every free day we get; as it were, I would ask you to keep your ill-timed and quite poor attempts at humor to yourself and not judge one so much lower down the ladder from you. Anyways, even "mercenary scum" such as myself and my company need to eat, and bacon is as good eating as anything served at the _castle _I'm sure."

And then the Wyerd were upon them.

Charging in a great cyclone around the ring of detestable humans, the Wyerd moaned and roared their two-phrase chant. Great green arms swung and thrashed like writhing tree branches in a storm, denting and cracking armor where they struck, the tusks skewering men and women with ease.

"FIRE!" Nikki yelled, and as one eight pistols fired outwards, dropping four of the countless running pack, countless only because in their windswept-run they were completely visible to the naked eye, to quick to be seen until they struck, and by then it was too late.

Still worn out from her battle with Gafgarion, the fight up the slope, and then her failed attempts to heal Nikkolas, Beatrix kept herself fighting with the knowledge that she was the only one of the assembled that the Princess could rely on. Her sword danced out, the speed of her slashes belied by the great force behind them. Where she struck, Wyerd screamed out as their limbs were separated from their bodies, the earth breaking where the point of her holy blade came down, the surrounding tornado of howling Wyerd thinning with visible quickness as the men and women caught inside fought for their lives.

One female knight swung out her sword arm with all the force she could muster. A Wyerd tusk caught her in the back of her bicep, just below the shoulder and wrenched her arm and entire body forward, dislocating the limb and nearly breaking it. She held onto her sword, however, almost as a subconscious action through the pain, and the blade bit into and hammered into the dome-shaped skull of the creature, killing it and sending it rolling out of its rushing passing of wind, her arm being carried along with it, her sword falling several feet from her to the snow-packed ground. Unwilling to accept the screaming pain of having lost her arm, she picked up her sword with her free hand and continued to fight, with even more passion and willfulness than before as all around her, knights and mercenaries experienced similar grueling injuries, and similar victories as moment after moment, the herd of Wyerd were grew weaker, the beasts slaughtering each other with almost as much fervor as they attacked the humans. If one of them stumbled or fell in its run, by cause of a human-inflicted injury or otherwise, they were battered, trampled, and swept or hurled aside out of the way of their comrades like nothing but a hunk of meat. It was never ending tribute to the Wyerd's constant roaring as they ran, fought, and died: _"The wind lays out my path… Get out of my way!"_

Following a swiftly loping Wyerd that had fallen out of its veil of wind, Nikkolas calmly followed the beast as it tried to pick up its speed to become one with the wind again, but picked it off with a clean shot of his pistol before it could. Catching blurred green movement out of the corner of one snow-pelted bleary eye, the mercenary captain ducked under a lunging blow from the Wyerd, the stone-tough hoof easily as large as his skull smashing into the back of the head of a Turk mercenary standing beside Nikkolas. Not letting himself wonder to the man's wellbeing and simply telling himself that the man was dead to push it from his mind, he brought down with his other arm as the monster passed, his steel rapier slashing a deep cut down across the Wyerd's back and drawing a strangled cry from it, the monster being bucked up by the tusks of a fellow Wyerd it got in the way of, and tossed up into the air to crash down upon the icy ground some yards away, unmoving and broken. Nikkolas told himself that that one was dead as well, before moving on to the next.

And just like that, the battle drew to a slow close, the last few Wyerd finally stopping their run to fight the standing men and women all out, face-to-face. Exhausted, and with their numbers cut nearly in half by the attack, this battle was even harder for the Princess's party.

The Princess aided where she could—an odd _Prtect_here and there, a _Cure_, but the use of her _Curaga_to save Nikkolas's life had drained her more than she had known until now, and not being efficient with any weapon, and being completely unarmed in fact, there was not much help for her to give. Only to stay out of her defenders' way, and pray that not too many of them died for her sake.

"Just one… you still here wench?" Nikkolas growled in a haggard, breathless voice as he glared at the single remaining, frost-breathing Wyerd as it stood several paces from the decimated party, glaring right back, the dead of its own kind, and those humans it had come to kill scattered all around, soaking the snow and ice red with the blood of man and monster both.

"Hah! I'm the 'Great One-Eyed General', remember? Did you think… you could outlast _me_?" Beatrix grunted back, just as tired, but determined not to show it.

"Just a pleasant dream I suppose. I'll go in slow from the left… pant… try and get it to move, and you go in from the right to catch it between us?"

Beatrix sucked in a deep breath and opened her mouth to agree, but was cut off by the female knight who had lost an arm earlier in the ferocious, pitched battle.

"No, I'll take it NOW!" The enraged young knight screamed, barely even into full womanhood as she raced in between the two leaders, ignoring the commands of both to stop as she dashed her sword with a clumsy strike into the monster's strong, bony skull. The blow was weak, however, and without technique or experience, being held in the woman's weak hand as it was (though it was the only one remaining to her).

The Wyerd's yellow eyes blazed, hot air blowing out visibly from the creature's nostrils as it reared up over the now weaponless, one-armed knight.

And recognizing a companion's plight, one mercenary fired his pistol—a little off-target, and thus not a killing blow—into the Wyerd's tough hide, while several other of the remaining knights and mercenaries charged in to the young woman's defense and to finish the creature off.

"NO DON'T YOU FOOLS!" Beatrix cried out, taking an involuntary step forward. "THE BEAST WILL _OVERSOUL_!"

And knowing it was outnumbered, with its enemies bearing down upon it, tired and injured with no route of escape… the Wyerd did just that. Pyreflies, the essence and soul of its slain comrades, as well some from the men and women who had died in the close fight gathered into the rearing Wyerd in a sudden rush, a low, psychotic moaning filling the cavern and echoing down its many tunnels and paths as the beast suddenly expanded in size, tusks curling twice, with its green hair taking on a dark hue like seawater at night, eyes glowing a hateful red as it stamped its overgrown hooves down upon the ice.

The ground cracked beneath its feet… the cracks spreading out like thick splinters across the white terrain. The ice shattered… and many fell.

WOW! Long-ass chapter huh? Yeah, sorry about that, I kind of got carried away—it had been my INTENTION to switch back to Paine and Darklithe before the chapter's end, but oh well, we can get back with them fresh next chapter, as well as some familiar and loved faces from our favorite Final Fantasy VII! Anyways, hope you enjoyed, and if you did, don't forget to review!

Also, got yer note Rusty, thanx a lot! I was beginning to worry I'd be writing for no one but me, myself and I! Anyways thanks again for the insightful review, and glad ye're intrigued, I'll do my best to live up to your hopes! In the meantime: PEACE!

_(Last Note: Use of the quote at the chapter's beginning changes nothing—FF VIII still sucked and I hate it…)****_


	4. Unreliable Future

**_Chapter 3: Dirty Plots, Slippery Plans, and Shaky Alliances_**

****

_"I once killed a hundred knights single-handedly… To me, you two are nothing more than insects."_

_-Beatrix_

The power circulating through her fists had been enough to slay men and women of both great skill and great strength with a single, well-placed blow. With her fists she had _broken _dragons, the winged terrors of Ivalice and so-called and strongest monsters known to the planet. Her fists' strength had allowed her to tear the horns of behemoths out from their skulls all the way to the root—in her days of adventure years past she had come across many things: cloth, fur, flesh, stone, steel, bone, and scale, all had given way when brought to test against the energy bared within one lovely knuckle.

At the moment, her fists were resting uncomfortably, and without purpose, in her lap.

Brushing a lock of silky, long dark hair out of her face, she tried to concentrate upon stilling her emotions, filling herself with only the gentle and calm flame of her aura, as she had been taught by Master Zangan seemingly lifetimes ago.

Her concentration was slashed through, however, by the gently blaring and cuttingly terrible music being spewed through speakers into the small waiting room.

_'Lobby music…' _She thought with a distasteful flare of rage. Her patience was not magnanimous, but she had always prided herself on being a peacekeeper, even among her friends, but now she could feel her temper rising, matching that of her companion beside her. Though where she suffered in silence, he was a hell's pot of muttering, cursing, shifting and twitching, the butt of an unlit cigarette stuffed crooked and bent into one corner of his half-shaven mouth, fierce blue eyes moving about the room at 100 miles an hour, searching for sometime—_anything_—with which to focus on, to release him of the boredom choking the room like volatile miasma.

_'Waiting rooms are a $&'ing plague on our !$%'ing species!' _He thought with a volatile snarl in the direction of a small fly as it buzzed along the wall on the entire other side of the room.

Just when it seemed like the two could take no more, like the plain-colored lobby, littered with only two tables, several chairs, and some outdated magazines would break them, or reduce them into a pair of enraged, putty-brained madmen, the reception door opened, and a pert, pretty, and familiar blonde woman in a black suit and red tie stepped out into the waiting room to greet them. Smiling somewhat devilishly, somewhat knowingly, she said: "Ms. Lockheart? Mr. Highwind? Boss Reno will see you now."

Storming to his feet, Cid hefted his lance, the Venus Gospel and roared, "It's about damn time!" before making his way towards the doorway, pushing past the pleasantly smiling Elena while Tifa rose from her seat, in a much more reserved manner than her companion, and slowly walked after him.

"You didn't have to make us wait so long." She said to the blonde Turk as she passed by her, to which the woman shrugged in mock innocence and replied,

"Boss Reno is a busy man! Though he was absolutely thrilled when he heard _you_ had come to see him, are you sure your loud friend won't get in the way?"

"I'd go into the clinic for Mako poisoning before I'd let _anything _go on between me and Reno." Tifa countered, ignoring Elena's smug look as she walked through the doorway and into the first corridor of the Turk Main Office.

Several years ago, the Turks had been nothing but a petty crime syndicate—operating out of numerous hideouts across the planet Ivalice, and with only four members to its name. They had garnered respect and fear simply for the fact that those four members were more than enough to take on anything other crime organizations could throw at them. That, along with the fact that they had been allied with the once all-powerful Shinra conglomerate, had made them the best in the world.

But, the era of Shinra had fallen. With Meteor's fall, and the defeat of the madman Sephiroth, the cataclysm that had shook Ivalice had reduced it once again, to a time of medieval strife. New nations rose, battling and conquering one another until finally a fragile peace arose between peoples in a mere three years. Now there was Alexandria, ruled by a Queen few had ever seen and built up from the ruins of what had once been Kalm, with Midgar nothing but a dark, forbidden valley to the southwest. Neighboring the green hills, fertile farmlands, and shining regal cities of Alexandria was Lindblum, built out of the devastated, earthquake-fractured tunnels of the Mythril Mine, and ruled by the engineer, kindly young Prince Marquis, and the man to first mass-produce airships as tools of war and defense. Wutai still existed far to the west, but the rest of Ivalice's landscape had changed drastically in the past three years.

And its people had changed with it—as the Turks themselves were living proof of. For one, they now had their own Main Office based in New Midgar, a plate-based city built much like the old forgotten Midgar, and laying somewhere between Junon and Lindblum, around the area where Fort Condor had sat years ago before the Condor fell. Not to mention several other headquarters branched all throughout Ivalice's inner and outlying territories.

And Reno, Rude, and Elena, who had opposed Tifa and her companions so fervently all those years ago, were right at the head of the new organization—one which boasted an easy thousand members now, including mercenaries in numerous countries and nations, spies, assassins, business agents, company owners, and all other sorts of people spanning the globe.

Mostly though, it just made Tifa and Cid angry that they had to wait in the waiting room of enemies whose lives they had spared years ago, only to come to for help now. Reno had probably been clipping his toenails or something.

Following the passageway for several minutes, the martial artist AVALANCHE barmaid kept her eyes on the broad back of the 40-some year old blonde engineer walking in front of her. She didn't know if he knew where he as going or not, but Cid had always been a no-nonsense, direct sort of man—the type who would sooner wander for days in the wilderness than ask for directions. Likewise, she thought it better to just let him lead and not question him, especially when he was so angry at the treatment they had received upon entering the Turks office.

_"Cid Highwind?__ I'm sorry you're not in the books, are you sure you called ahead?"_

_"I'm $$%# 'Cid Highwind' you jackass! I don't hafta call ahead dammit! Is that headset is too tight on your brain? Jus' tell your boss to think back to the guy who had his throat balanced on this here lance and he'll remember quick enough! Damn $#!…"_

Tifa didn't agree that his method of approach was always appropriate… but it was obvious to her that some agent of the Turks had seen them coming and called ahead, and in reply Reno, or Elena, or both had instructed their associates to act as rudely as possible. It was obvious—even if they hadn't called in and made an appointment with the now-dubbed: "Boss Reno", their names were famous now, since the ordeal with Sephiroth that they had stopped, saving the planet itself, along with the lives of everyone on it. Her thoughts drifted back some to those days, a misty look overtaking her eyes as she walked behind Cid, hands tucked behind her back and long black hair trailing as she remembered memories not very long-past that had shaped not only _her _life, but the lives of everyone on Ivalice… she promptly walked right into Cid's back, drawing a grunted curse and a glare from the man as he used his free hand to open the large, black double doors standing in front of them and entered Boss Reno's "office". Tifa and Cid's jaws dropped as they entered, the scruffy-looking pilot nearly dropping his lance as he looked around the spacious chamber's interior. If this place was an office, then the Midgar slums had been high-society suburbs.

Neon light from signs and billboards that looked to have been collected from the ruins of Midgar served as the main source of lighting in the room, besides the dingy, warm yellow light produced by the oversized bulbs hanging over the slick green pool table off to one side of the room. One side of the "office" had been turned into a full bar, with stools and a glass case filled with different sorts of liquor and alcohol. Only at the far end did a large black work desk sit, and that area was very poorly lit, pointing to the fact that it was probably not used all that often.

Tifa gasped as she recognized the headlight from her old bar in the slums, the "7th Heaven". She had since reopened the bar in Costa Del Sol, purchasing the building from the previous owner where it sat quite conveniently just below the villa where she and Cloud lived these days; still, seeing the sign brought back memories, and seeing it here…

"Well, well, well, if it isn't AVALANCHE's perky cheerleader. Sorry about the lobby—we really are trying to make it more interesting y'know?"

"That's all? Ain't cha got nuthin to say t' me?" Cid asked as Reno stepped from the shadows of the room, a pool cue in one hand, a pair of nail clippers in the other, and dressed in the same Turks attire they had always seen him in.

Looking to Cid, the red-haired Turk smiled and said, "But Cid, I WAS talking to you."

Tifa had to hold back a chuckle at this while Cid sent a heated glower the other man's way.

"But you two didn't come all the way here to get insulted by me… or ask me out on a date?" He finished, looking to Tifa with a raised brow and large smile on his face. From the look she gave him, his smile wilted into a frown and he cleared his throat, loosening his tie some and sitting down on the edge of the pool table. "So then, what can I do for you?"

This was where Tifa came in. Cid had gone along with her mostly so that if the Turks, or anyone else stupid enough to try started trouble with the gentle-seeming barmaid that they would have even more trouble than they bargained for. But he was certainly no skilled speaker, or negotiator (unless the negotiations you wanted consisted of Cid shoving a still smoldering cigarette butt into the face of whoever he was trying to convince to see his point), and at the moment, with Cloud off on some errand in Alexandria, Vincent and Barret who-knows-where, and Yuffie supposedly dead or captured, Tifa was really the only one to send. Besides, she knew Reno, and that would give her an edge when dealing with the arrogant, slippery, and quick-witted Turk.

"It's like this, Reno." She said, patting Cid on the back to remind him to keep calm, they had come here for help, after all, as she stepped forward to petition the Turk Boss. "We need help. It's serious." At this point Tifa had expected the other man to dive right into a long schpeel of sarcastic remarks and comments mostly mocking the "great saviors of the planet for coming to the lowly Turks for help". Surprisingly it did not come.

Rather, Reno set the nail clippers down on the table and pulled out a cigarette, motioning to Cid.

Tifa did not know when he had started smoking. Neither did Cid, but he recognized a man in need, as well as the motion, and quickly tossed his lighter over to the Turk, who caught it, nodded to him in thanks, and lit up.

"When Tifa Lockheart and Cid Highwind come to my door I already _know _it's serious. I'm sorry about you having to wait in the lobby and all, but I really was busy. Just got reports from my agents in Wutai… word is your little thief friend bit the dust."

Absolute, silence reigned in the room for a moment as both Cid and Tifa took in the information. Though they had always had a healthy distrust for the young ninja, as well as an annoyance for the girl that was easy to understand, they had all fought together—_grown_ together—back in the days of Sephiroth, and their bonds had only strengthened in the past three years. It was daunting business hearing that one of the people who had become as close as family had died. "Yuffie?" Tifa asked, more to herself in disbelief than to make clear Reno was talking about the same person.

"Bullshit." Cid said from where he stood, crossing his arms over his chest. "That little brat's too feisty to die. Besides, she made me a promise that she was gonna steal my airship and rob me blind while I was on my deathbed."

"Why your deathbed?" Reno asked, confused.

"The only time she'd be able to get away with o' course." Cid replied matter-of-factly.

Reno shrugged, holding the cigarette away from his mouth, blowing a puff of smoke, and then coughing. Frowning at the cancer stick between his fingers he said "Maybe so. Whoever hit her waited until she and the force she was bringing out with her were just outside of scout range of Wutai before doing so. A secret route got discovered or something and they were caught completely unprepared. Anyways the battlefield's been wiped clean now, no one left as evidence—dead or alive. That means I can't say for certain she's dead or not… but chances are slim. We think it's that guado warlock."

"Seymour?" Tifa said, to which Reno nodded, taking another puff of his cigarette… and coughing again.

"I thought all the guado were extinct." Cid muttered, to which a voice replied:

"They are. He's the last one." Elena walked casually into the office, moving past Tifa and Cid to stand beside Reno.

"You came here for two things. One, was information on your friends… I've given you everything I have in that regard—sorry, I don't know anything about the other two. And two, you came here to get Turks, because like the goody-goodies you are, you're planning on doing something stupid, and going up against the Queen."

Neither Tifa nor Cid needed to say anything, he had read them and guessed their reasons for coming perfectly.

"Well I don't have many people to spare—all spread out making me gil and all, but I do have one man."

"One man?" Cid balked loudly, slamming the butt of his spear into the ground. "You ungrateful whelp! I never shoulda let you live back in that tunnel!"

Both Reno and Elena chuckled, the blonde woman taking up speaking while the red-haired man tried another smoke. "Don't underestimate him. Besides Rude, Reno, and I he really is the best we have. And we're going to give him to you for free."

Tifa thought about arguing—they needed armies, not heroes. The Queen of Alexandria alone commanded the largest military ground force in Ivalice… but the Turks had been right about everything else, she supposed for now they might as well see what they could do with one free mercenary. "Alright. As long as he's free."

Laughing, Reno said, "You sound like you've done this before."

Tifa's expression darkened, to which Reno laughed even more.

"So who is he? Better not be some punk like you. That'd do us more harm than good." Cid said gruffly.

"His name is Diego. A gunfighter, and martial artist. Apparently he trained under Master Zangan…" Elena said, looking to Tifa, whose eyes immediately brightened. In her mind Master Zangan had died far too early in his life (though he had been an old man when death took him)and left far too few full-fledged students. Besides herself, the brunette barmaid had never met another.

"But he's not here. We sent him out on a mission before we knew you were coming and it would take a while to call him back. Right now he's on his way to Wutai to find out what really happened with your friend and that guado. Just let him know he's been hired by you and if he has any doubts tell him to call in HQ and we'll give him the thumbs-up." Reno said.

"So what's he look like?" Tifa asked.

Reno smiled, "You'll know him when you see him. But there's a photo waiting for you at the front desk that you can pick up on your way out. Now get lost—it's bad for my reputation having goody-goody 'heroes' like you around the office."

Seeing that their business was concluded, Cid gave a superior _humph!_ and stalked out. Tifa waited a moment, and then bowed to Reno and Elena, surprising them both with the act before saying, "Thank you Reno, Elena. We really do appreciate your help, and give Rude my best." And then she left as well, leaving the two Turks alone in the musty, gently lit pool room/bar/office.

"You didn't tell them." Elena said, her eyes still on the doorway their two past rivals had exited from, hands tucked into the coat pockets of her black suit-jacket.

"No." Reno replied.

"They are going to find out you know. It's like the old guy said, they might feel bad about letting us live back then and decide to do something about it—"

"Elena," Reno said, cutting off whatever else she had been about to say. "Shut up. Go do whatever it is you do around here. And tell whoever it is you need to tell to get Rude back here on the double."

"He's on vacation."

"I know that dammit."

"And who should I tell to call him back?"

"Whoever takes care of that sort of thing. We _do _have people for that don't we?" Reno said, his temper rising, knowing that Elena was poking at him just to make him angry, and becoming angrier knowing it was working.

"That would be our receptionist—you'd think you could at least remember her name. You're the one who hired her after all."

"I hired her for her ass—and in a second I'll be firing you for your mouth, now get lost."

"Good to see the role of leadership isn't going to your head… Sir," Elena said with a mock bow before exiting the room, leaving Reno alone with his thoughts. The woman had cooled down a lot since when she had first been brought on three years ago—frankly, Reno had liked her better when he could boss her around and tell her anything he liked knowing she was just a nervous rookie who really didn't know any better.

There were a lot of things he hadn't told Tifa and Cid, though in all honesty, he had meant to. Ever since the call had come in that two people matching their description were walking Jackshot Lane towards the Turk HQ, he had been preparing himself for how he would tell them. The phrasing of his words, the tone of his voice—everything. He had even tried meditating on it, willing himself not to back out for the entire time up until the receptionist—what was her name, Wendy? Yes, Wendy—had buzzed him saying that she didn't think the blonde guy with the big spear was going to wait for much longer. But once they had come in, his entire plan had fallen to pieces. Memories, memories that he hated, memories that reminded him every moment of every day that they were better than he was came flooding back. Memories of their battles, their arguments, the time spent plotting against them and recovering from wounds given by them. Memories that tied the Turks, and AVALANCHE together tighter than anything else on Ivalice. And he couldn't tell them. He couldn't tell them it was a Turk spy that had betrayed Yuffie Kisaragi's ninja squad out of Wutai and led them to their very possible death at the hands of the mysterious Seymour Guado. He couldn't tell them that he had known about the entire operation, or that the only reason he didn't know whether Yuffie was dead or not was because his spy had been killed the moment after the ambush had succeeded and the battle was won. He couldn't tell them that it was their friend—Barret Wallace that had for some reason joined the Guado warlock and taken down Wutai's princess, Yuffie Kisaragi. He couldn't tell them that the Turk they had hired, the one on his way to Wutai now was only going there to get revenge for the Turk the damned Guado had betrayed and killed. But the truth _would _come out, just as Elena said. Of that he was very sure. A burning in his lungs reminded him of the cigarette, and looking down at it he tossed it to the ground and stomped it out with the heel of his shoe. He didn't smoke, it had just been a passing thought that maybe… the cigarette would kill him, so that Cid wouldn't have to. "If they want to kill me," Reno said to himself, hefting the pool cue and spinning it atop the palm of his hand, "then I won't plead for my life… but they are gonna have to work for it. And I definitely won't let it be to some rundown greaser with a smoking problem… it'll have to be Cloud that kills me. I won't accept anything else. Memories or no, I'm a Turk, and Turks look out for themselves and their own. What went down in Wutai was business, nothing else. I wasn't trying to hurt them, it was just gil in the pocket."

_'But you could have said 'no'. There were, and are, plenty of other jobs in Ivalice.' _Struck by his own conscience, he dropped the pool cue and went to his desk. He never used it, so there was not even a chair there for him to sit down at, but it did not matter, he didn't mind standing for a little while. Picking up the phone he buzzed the receptionist's desk. "Hey Wendy, they leave yet?"

_"Yes sir, just a minute ago."_

"Good. Did Elena tell you to get Rude on the horn for me?"

_"No sir, I'm sorry she didn't, maybe I didn't hear her? Or maybe she just forgot to tell me?"_

Gritting his teeth as he mentally cursed Elena and her new "empowerment" attitude, Reno didn't let the momentary frustration shine through in his dialect. Wendy was as innocent and sweet an eighteen-yr. old girl you could find, and if she thought he were upset with her she would probably run out of the office crying and then jump off a bridge or something. He remembered how excited she had been when he had hired her after the first interview, even though she lacked any experience or any job history at all. He had just followed his gut, which was how he made all of his decisions. Except for the one about Wutai—for that one he had listened to his head, telling himself all that garbage about not owing those jerks from AVALANCHE anything, rather than listening to his gut, which was telling him to tell the creepy guado on the other line to: "go suck an egg" and then hang up. "Yeah, she probably just forgot. Busy woman—anyways, tell Rude to meet me in the 'Regular Place', he'll know what I mean."

_"__Regular Place__? Yes sir, got it. Are you leaving the office sir?"_

"Yep, looks like I am. Got a favor I owe to some old friends" He replied, even though she had not asked why.

_"Are you leaving the city sir?"_

"Most definitely! New Midgar's not good for much except us. Not like the old girl at all. Now _that _Midgar was a gem."

Giggling over the line, the girl said, _"It sure was sir!" _Even though she had never even seen the original Midgar in her entire life, or even been outside of New Midgar where she had been born,_ "Well have a good trip then sir! I'll see you when you get back!"_

"Will do, hold down the fort for us, and don't let Elena get too comfortable in my office. It might be awhile, but I _am _coming back."

****

Deaf to the gurgling screams of the Knight, a young man barely out of his teen years, Gafgarion pulled his sword, Nightmare, free of the broken boy's chest. The fall had nearly killed him, and his injuries would have seen to it, but all Gafgarion knew was that the boy was an enemy of the Queen, which made him an enemy to him. So the only thing he owed the boy was death—as quickly and painfully as possible. He was back in Evil Forest, and looking up at the broken path leading to Ice Cavern, he realized that it would be nigh-impossible to reach the summit after what the traitor Beatrix had done to the slope. Looking around him at all the bodies, he sheathed his sword, not even attempting to clean the blood from the blade. He was sure there were more, but he did not have time to look for them—she would be contacting him soon, and he would prefer to be on his way back to the castle when she did. Both friend and foe alike lay around him, and though it was a surprising fact, many of them had survived the tremendous fall from Ice Cavern's mountain trail, though all had suffered grueling injuries, of the sort that prevented them from doing anything but moaning or bleeding where they lay. Gafgarion had dealt with them all in turn. To his own men, the Dragon in Fear Knights, he had given merciful slumber in death, removing their heads in one clean, swift chop. The foolhardy turncoats who had taken up arms against himself and the Queen, however, he murdered where they lay. The fates of the two perhaps did not seem altogether different in the long run, but the Dark Knight was not bothered by such things. He made haste through the forest, knowing the fiends and monsters that called the place home would be coming soon to feast upon the many dead that had gathered that night.

It happened as he was crossing a stream, his body seized up completely, eyes focusing on a single point, and glazing over everywhere else. It was discomforting to him, as always, when the Queen contacted him mentally, like this, but he had learned the less he resisted, the easier it was, but he still could not submit to her domination completely—it was just not in his nature, even if she were the Queen, his mind and spirit were a place for him, and no one else.

_"Gafgarion, are we as one?"_

_"Yes my Queen, I can hear you clearly. Are you aware of all that has happened?"_

_"Yes, I have read your thoughts. Beatrix made a daring move—I did not think she had the stomach to do as she did this night."_

_"Neither did I my Queen, though in retrospect had I known, I see little that could have been done to stop her."_

_"It does not matter now. Come back to the castle, we shall allow my daughter to go for now."_

_"My Queen?"___

_"It is as we presumed. The ex-SOLDIER, Cloud Strife has made to join the Princess's forces at the exit of Ice Cavern."_

Gafgarion's astral mind growled. _"You should have positioned me to stop him instead of that woman my Queen. I could have killed him where she failed."_

_"I do not doubt you my Knight, but he is just as good as everyone says him to be. After all, it was he who killed the great Sephiroth. But then again, he still does not know the fate of his friends."_

Gafgarion grew anxious, his mind buzzing with the emotion, unable to control his thoughts and feelings as the Queen could her own while they were connected as such. _"It is dangerous my Queen. Your beloved toy: 'Chaos' could awaken at any moment. He might try to harm you—,"_

_"And he would die where he stood. But be easy my Knight, return to the castle. I have other tools working in the wilderness that will follow the Princess for me."_

Gafgarion gave a mental sniff of distaste. _"The 'Witchknight'?__ He is untrustworthy and wholly unreliable."_

_"I am aware of that Gafgarion. I have other tools besides him. Now return to me and see __Garland__'s new gift before I send them off. We have plans to make concerning the Prince Marquis and his precious Lindblum."_

And just like that, the link was broken. Gafgarion stood where he was for a moment, thinking. _'__Garland__ is just as the Witchknight… unreliable and untrustworthy. Be careful where you lay your trust my Queen, I might not always be there to protect you.' _And with those thoughts, he made double-haste in his journey back towards Alexandria Castle, as if at any moment all of the Queen's enemies might rise up to attack her. If it were to happen, Gafgarion wanted to be sure that he at least was there with his sword to stand in front of her.

****

"This is a cave in the middle of the wild! Why do we have to figure out a puzzle here?!" Darklithe exclaimed, ardently pissed off at the shifting, rotating, up-and-down thundering block pillars of ice and snow set in their path.

"Quit whining," Paine replied noncommittally, examining the separated filaments of bridge way as they moved all about in front of them, coming to a pause every three minutes, where they remained still for half that time, and then began their erratic circus of movement once again. The only problem was, a minute and a half was not near enough time to sprint across the frozen bridge before the movement began again—and even so, the path was only several feet wide, and layered in ice and snow, making an all-out sprint nearly suicidal. "I think I figured it out," she said suddenly, catching Darklithe totally off-guard.

"What? Figured _what _out? _That_?" He said, pointing to the actions of the snow bridge going on in front of them.

She nodded.

"WHAT? HOW?!"

"Watch." She said, and then dashed forward. Moving at top speed, the black-garbed woman lunged off from the lip of snow they were perched upon, her jump bringing her down to land perfectly atop a pillar of the icy bridge just as it was rising up. She spun immediately upon landing, her feet swiveling through the snow, and then she had jumped again, falling several heart-stopping feet before coming up over another rising bridge-piece, this one spinning as it ascended, and taking her with it, rising to full height, where she jumped again, repeating the process for what seemed to Darklithe a fearful eternity, though in reality it was only half a minute. And then all the pieces came to rest, settling straight and firm, and the woman ran the rest of the way across, jumping to the safety of the crevasse's other side just as the convulsions began again. "Follow me when you're ready," she called across, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "I'm going to scout ahead." And then her already distant form disappeared as she strode away and around a winding curve of the ice-laden path.

And that left the uncertain young Witchknight alone, scratching his head, wondering just how in the world he was going to do what he had just witness the woman Paine do and not fall to his death in the process.

Moving in her usual, confident stride, Paine examined the layout of the place as she went. There was nothing striking about this area—hardly anything at all that would tell it apart from the last… just ice, snow, and caves. The endless caves… if one did not have a good map… she suddenly remembered her odd new accomplice and stopped. _'That's right, he has a map.' _She remembered now why she had put up with him so far now. Of course she couldn't totally lie to herself—he wasn't _all _that bad—in fact he even amused her—though only a little, and he had saved her life. If he had been overly annoying, she would have just taken the map from him and left his company. _'I should probably go back and make sure he doesn't kill himself trying to clear that gap.' _She thought, reminding herself that not everyone on Ivalice was as skilled as she was. Walking back the way she had come, the sounds of the active pillars of ice that made up the bridge roaring in her ears, she rounded the bend that led to the bridge-cavern and was shocked to find Darklithe now on the near side. He was on his hands and knees, panting for breath, and crossing her arms over chest Paine approached him. "I'm impressed. Not sure how you made it but good job, I was afraid I was going to have to hold your hand through it." Darklithe did not respond, and Paine tilted her head in confusion, peering as what parts of his face she could see. Was he sweating? Now the risky journey across the ice pillars had certainly taken some skill, but it hadn't _lasted _long enough for her to really build up any sort of sweat. _'Maybe he just got scared.' _She reasoned to herself, once again coming to the realization that not everyone on Ivalice was as iron-sided and adaptable as she was. Hearing him making his way to his feet, she looked at him, preparing to make some snide comment, but what she saw turned her bowels as cold as the glacial wind flowing through the Ice Cavern.

"Something wrong?" Darklithe asked off-handedly, not noticing the look on Paine's face as he brushed patches of snow from his clothing, skin, and hair.

Paine blinked, and then shook her head. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the Witchknight, but she could've _sworn _that not a moment ago… no, there was nothing; her eyes had obviously been playing tricks on her. Normally she wouldn't have considered such a thing to be possible, but it was very cold and she wasn't dressed for it, maybe the temperature was just getting to her. "No, nothing at all, you ready to go?" She said.

Darklithe nodded, and together, the two rounded the bend ahead of them and went into the connecting chamber of ice and snow. As they walked, they found themselves conversing about various points and topics without any real importance or meaning, simply to pass the time as they walked the cold paths of Ice Cavern.

"So you don't really care either way?" Paine asked, her dry tone of voice and style of speech making the question sound like declaration of fact.

Darklithe ignored how she made the comment sound and nodded in reply, "Yeah. Queen—Princess, it really doesn't matter. It's easy for people who have no life to look at the Queen and say: 'You're wrong', and its easy for others to look at us for working for the Queen for gil and say 'You're wrong', but aside from the fact that they have no idea the circumstances or motivations behind everything being done, does it really matter anyways?"

"What do you mean?" Paine asked, inconspicuously attempting to draw a straight answer out of her somewhat cryptic new companion.

"I hear a lot of people around Alexandria—old people—saying that the Queen used to be so great, how at the Princess's age, the two were one in the same. Who's to say the pressures of ruling a kingdom won't turn the Princess down the same road as he mother? Is it so unbelievable a possibility? If they had the resources, and had contacted me, I would have worked for the Princess just as readily as I took the job from the Queen. I don't have any allegiance for either of them, only the money they're paying me."

Paine nodded but said nothing. This… changed things.

The two passed under an arch of glistening ice and entered into a wide, almost egg-shaped chamber of the Ice Cavern… just in time to witness the entire ceiling caving in atop their heads.

****

"Your precious woman fell under my eye this eve, Shuyin. Desperate to be with you, she remains with no thought or desire but your touch—her heart, soul, and essence fixed upon your return… how long will she continue to wait as the dutiful dog? No matter how strong one's conviction, or will, or even supposed love… those without hearts cannot linger as they wish for eternity…"

The chaotic void of Terra wrapped and warped around the dark-armored figure like liquid encased in clear elastic. The man he spoke to quickly came into being, forming out of the surrounding darkness: a young man, blonde-haired, and with dark eyes brimming with fury, despair, and all other sorts of emotions locked within one who's soul is tortured by regrets of the past.

Shuyin did not speak, he merely glared. Garland mocked him like this often, and through the many long centuries he had been forced to serve him, he had learned that raising a hand against the dark-armored old man served no purpose. He simply could not be hurt. Shuyin had watched him beheaded on the field of battle, only for his body to pick up, and reattach his fallen cranium before destroying his attacker. All he could do was continue to serve, with the hope that soon his bonds of servitude would be complete. That he could finally return to his precious Lenne… that he could finally die. "Her heart is your concern Garland. If anything were to happen to her spirit… I do not need to threaten you."

The withered old man, his pale, withered skin and wispy white hair offset by his gigantean build and blazing red eyes laughed in reply to the seemingly young, blonde-haired man's words. "Was the initial fall of the woman not your failing, lieutenant? Protect her you could not, and so her life was taken. But forgive me; one should not pepper old and ugly wounds. Do not worry yourself over heart Shuyin—I will not _lose _the morsel. More importantly, your time as my vassal draws closer to its completion, serve me well, and it shall not be another blissful thousand years, yes?

"Now then, of the Queen, she is blind to all but the gifts and portions of power I give to her—like a dog following its trail of bones into the maw of a dragon. But her wellbeing her lackeys do observe. I will not have my plans ruined by such little creatures—we will dispose of them, Shuyin. Not a trace of their weak hearts are to remain."

"Chaos, her lieutenant, and Gafgarion, her only remaining general of any stature—how would you like them destroyed master?" Shuyin intoned. 

A smile creased Garland's lips. "The Dark Knight could be used in our efforts yet, though he would not know that his actions lay in our purpose. He may remain for now, but the one called Chaos, he unsettles me. He is unnatural, his nature held in thrall by the Queen's powers. He must be eliminated, or at least pushed aside, before our plans can continue."

"I shall send a Brooding Queen to his bedchamber my lord Garland." Shuyin said, veiling his thoughts as he spoke. He would act the faithful servant for now—it was all he could do—but if it seemed the old wisp of a man intended to keep him barred from Lenne for another number of centuries… well then he would have to go his master's enemies, and began to make plots and plans of his own to ensure the death of the great and immortal Garland.

****

It was a testament to the cruelty of the night so far, that none of the knights or mercenaries who fell through the ice died, or were even severely injured in the fall caused by the raging, Oversouled Wyerd.

As terrible a fact as it was—the truth of the matter was that the weakest, and even those of moderate, or slightly above-average skill or strength had already been weeded out and slain. From the first fight in Evil Forest, and through the many perilous battles that led to the present moment, now only the best and most enduring of the knights and mercenaries in Garnet's party remained.

Granted, it truly was not that far of a fall in the first place, but even as they fell, those that could were striking out at the Wyerd-Oversoul while they dropped through the icy air, and for Darklithe and Paine below, it was a visual wonder to behold.

Nikki's _Grand Finale _technique ripped into the large, sparkling monster's back, his rapier slamming into the creature's spine and snapping off, the point embedding itself in the beast's back as the blue-haired mercenary fell past it, leaving room for Beatrix to slash down with her sword from above, thick blue and yellow cords of bristling electricity storming into life from the empty air where her blade passed, and crashing down into the falling Wyerd in her _Thunder Slash _attack.

With the other knights and mercenaries all hacking away at the thing as they fell, the Wyerd was dead before it hit the ground.

Those who had fallen, slowly, almost grudgingly, as if distressed to still be alive and conscious after all they had been put through that night—picked themselves up off of the cold ice and onto their feet, all eyes eventually coming to rest on the two strangers standing in their presence.

"Identify yourself." Beatrix commanded of the black-wearing man and woman standing in the snow several paces away from them, her hand on the hilt of her sword, and her single eye shining defiance. This damned night could try all it wanted—she would take every fight and obstacle it threw at her—and she would not lose once.

Completely shocked, Darklithe looked upon a figure he knew well, though he had never seen her in life until now. It was Beatrix, Great General of Alexandria, standing before his very eyes beside Princess Garnet and some blue-haired man with a pistol, brushing snow and chunks of ice and Wyerd fur off of her person. She was just as beautiful as all the tales had said, but in the same right, he could not see where the strength of legend she was rumored to possess might lie. She was not particularly powerful at a glance, though she did hold an attractive body, with wide, shapely hips and a tapered, firm waist. Aware that at the moment, due to the payment he had received from the Queen's man Chaos, he was an enemy to the group standing before him, Darklithe was at a loss of what to do.

Paine spoke up for the Witchknight, in his moment of flummox, by drawing her sword in the presence of one of the greatest swordswomen on the planet and adopting a cocky fighting posture with her back facing her newly-made opponent. "'Great General Beatrix' huh? … I'm not impressed."

Darklithe nearly squeaked out loud, so convinced was he that that was absolutely the _last _thing she should have done.

Angered by the other woman more than anything else, Beatrix drew her sword, Save the Queen for the fourth time that evening and stepped out in front of the knights and mercenaries that had taken up furious residence between her and the silver-haired woman with their weapons held at the ready. "Aren't you even going to face me you foolish knave?"

Paine combed several thick-spiked tresses of silver hair from her face with her free hand and smiled sidewise at the one-eyed woman. "You aren't worthy to be faced by me."

Beatri'x face slipped into one of cool composure at the comment, and she flicked a curled lock of brown hair from her own face before holding her sword out in front of her to point at her two opponents. "I once killed a hundred knights single-handedly… To me, you two are nothing more than insects."

Darklithe, who was unaware of when he had been included with the idiot Paine as the Alexandrian general's enemy, could only watch in bewilderment as Beatrix charged headlong towards them.

And the idiot Paine only grinned.

CLIFFHANGER!!!!!—Eat it biatches! And 'till next time (hopefully soon), PEACE!


End file.
